


The Wild One

by GodofWorms



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Destruction, F/M, Good and Evil, Modern Era, Self-Preservation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-07 19:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodofWorms/pseuds/GodofWorms
Summary: The Armageddon is an invading force from the far North who intends to conquer all of Westeros. When they arrive in Winterfell, occupying the surrounding territories, Sansa and her family are forced to flee their home.The Night's Watch is a rebellion group who are helping evacuate the civilians to the lands across the Narrow Sea, and they are the Starks' best hope at making it out of Westeros and to safety.





	1. Propaganda & Prisoners

**Author's Note:**

> A Jonsa story set in a dystopian modern-ish society (Westeros) where Ramsay Bolton and the White Walkers (nicknamed the Armageddon) are essentially trying to take over the world, and Sansa and her family are refugees on their way to Braavos. There's minor SanSan in this fic.
> 
> I used [this map](https://i.redd.it/ap8fmgf1fzcz.jpg) for reference.

It was not yet noon, maybe half past eleven, but the sky was already darkened from the storm clouds. The air was thickly humid and made it difficult to breathe, but Sansa didn't mind. She was sitting on the sill of the opened window, back against the edge, one foot dangling out above the porch and the other pressed flat against the edge of the frame opposite her. She was waiting for her father and the boys to make it back home from the Community Center with food for lunch. Her mother was already in the kitchen chopping the vegetables. Arya was behind her in the living area playing with her nunchucks that she'd found in a dumpster outside the Community Center, and little Rickon was resting in the room he shared with Bran. He'd come down with a sickness from playing outside while it rained, so Catelyn made him rest as much as possible, feeding him warm broths and a curing, honeyed drink made with boiled onions. It was dangerous to get sick these days, as there was no medicine anymore, no hospitals to go to in emergencies. Catelyn, especially, became anxious when anyone came down with something, because if it became serious, they were more likely to die than to live.

Sansa breathed in the humid air and went back to the book of poetry she'd been reading. It wasn't really a proper book. The poems were all ones Jon had written before he disappeared years ago. At least a third of them were poems to her, some he'd given to her and some she didn't find until after he was gone, hidden behind a piece of loose paneling in the bedroom he'd shared with Robb and Theon. It wasn't until she found the hidden poems that she realized Jon had feelings for her. One of her favourites had him likening her to a Flame Lily.

 

_For Sansa #8_

_If I could name any flower,_

_I'd call the Flame Lily 'Sansa'._

_So like her hair, it burns; so like her spirit._

_The most beautiful of flowers_

_To match the most stunning of girls._

_It blazes the same as her eyes when she looks at me,_

_It curls just the same as her hair._

_I'd give everything I have to feel her flames,_

_To let her lick them over my skin._

_I'd drown in her fire and be better off,_

_For even if my heart feels singed by the touch_

_Of a girl who burns too brightly to see me,_

_I long for nothing more._

 

If she'd had even the slightest inkling that Jon had felt something romantic for her, she would have done something about it. If it was true that he ran off like the rumours said (though Sansa wasn't sure she believed them), maybe she could have told him her truth and convinced him to stay; if he'd known she felt for him what he felt for her, maybe he wouldn't even have needed convincing.

She didn't know how old he was when he'd written the poem, but all the ones 'For Sansa' were numbered, and there were 33 in total. They got progressively better with every one, the rhythm in which he wrote them becoming smoother and less jilted. The final six for her, from 27 to 33, all had to have been written sometime shortly before he went missing, she was sure. There was no innocence in those ones ... no sign of the timid, sweet Jon who appeared in the poems prior. The last six (save for the very last) were all about things he wanted to do to her, ways that he wanted to have her, things he wanted to make her feel, and how he would miss her most of all when he was gone. Her face had flamed the first time she realized the content of those poems, and though she'd already been alone, she'd quickly burrowed under her blankets with a flashlight to give herself a further semblance of privacy. She couldn't believe he'd written things like that about her. More than that, she couldn't believe she hadn't known. Jon had been the first boy she'd ever liked, the only one until he disappeared, so she'd been paying enough attention to him, certainly, to notice if he gave away his feelings. But instead, his smiles were always kind, his eyes never strayed to her chest or down her body or anywhere they weren't supposed to, and his touches were always appropriate and gentle and familiar. He hadn't given any indication that he felt the way his poems showed he did. 'For Sansa #30' was very long and especially explicit, using dirty words she'd only ever heard Jon or Robb or Theon say when she'd wake in the middle of the night to pee, able to hear them laughing and talking through the wall they shared with the bathroom.

She flicked to it now, making sure Arya was still preoccupied with her nunchucks behind her and her mother was distracted by the vegetables. She skimmed through it, her eyes finding a verse halfway down the page, the verse wherein he wrote the most vulgar, exciting of words.

 

_To touch her and kiss her and fuck her like I should be,_

_To bite her and mar her and keep her underneath me._

_I'd fuck her slowly and sweetly as long as I should do,_

_I'd fuck her harder and deeper as soon as she wants to._

 

Sansa only read it and the other five in their entirety when she was alone because she couldn't get through them otherwise. All of them were long, verse after verse after verse of all the things he wanted to do to her, and she just couldn't believe she'd never realized it. They could have done these things. She would have let him--she would have  _asked_ him, had she known. But even just imagining him, imagining him writing the poems, imagining him taking himself in hand afterward, thinking of what he'd written, it was enough to make her breaths come harder and mouth to dry. So she didn't read them out in the open. It was too risky.

The very last one, though, made her more sad than anything. The page even had what she assumed were a few dried tear drops on it, smudging some of the words, but she could still make them out. He'd known he was leaving. He'd planned it, that much was obvious. The final poem was a goodbye, one he never intended on delivering, and it was addressed to her, to the person he was - in his own words - most averse to leave. She wished he'd written something in it of where he'd be going. Better yet would be if he'd just told her. Sansa had shown her family all the poems sans the ones for her, which she felt were private, but she did show her father and mother the final one as soon as she'd found it. They deserved to know that he was safe, or that he at least was at the time of his disappearance. Before that, they'd all thought he'd gone missing - kidnapped or worse - for he hadn't left a note or given any indication that his leaving was his choice. The months after he'd gone had been tense and horrible for all of them, at least until Sansa snooped in his side of the boys' bedroom and found the letters. Before, though, her family had fought all the time, and Robb was always going off on his own, rarely talking to any of them. They'd thought Jon was dead, they all did. They'd thought he'd been captured by the Armageddon. But their fears and doubts ebbed once Sansa showed her parents the final poem, and then they'd shown the rest of the family the few lines in the poem that proved it was his choice instead of a kidnapping. No one but she and her parents read it fully, though. It was a poem for her, expressing his regret, his apology, and his love. The words were meant for her, not for anyone else.

But after that, everyone became aware of Jon's feelings for Sansa, and Ned had been the only one who wasn't surprised. He'd suspected Sansa's matching feelings, as well, which he'd told her later when they were alone. He'd assure her that they'd all see Jon again one day. He was certain of it.

Jon and Theon were the only children of two separate sets of parents, all four of whom had been lost to the Armageddon. Jon's mother and father had grown up with Sansa's parents and were all great friends from youth, and Theon's father had been Ned's brother, Brandon. But Theon felt more like a friend than a relative, and Jon felt more like a Stark than a friend. Ned had told Sansa that he and Catelyn had wanted to adopt Jon, but when he'd told Ned how he felt about Sansa, they all agreed adoption was an unnecessary measure, that it wouldn't make him more of their family than he already was.

Sansa was pulled from her thoughts by a flash of lightning in the afternoon sky followed shortly by a loud rumble of thunder. Seconds later, the sky opened up and released a torrential downpour with no build up. Sansa locked eyes with her mother in the kitchen, and then they both stopped what they were doing, Sansa leaving the book of poetry on the window's ledge as she folded back into the house and went to fetch the water catchers.

Whenever it rained, Sansa and her mother pulled out every mismatched bucket, pot, and bowl they owned and set them beneath the drips from the ceiling. The cabin used to be a nice place, at least not damaged in any obvious way, but it was decrepit now. The log walls were crumbling and the deck had long since rotted in several places, the left half partly sunken into the ground. But Sansa had grown up there. It was home. It was also very safe, as the Armageddon hadn't even invaded Winterfell yet, and they wouldn't be able to take Winterfell Forest without taking Winterfell first. If Winterfell was invaded, they'd hear about it long before the Forest was, too, so they'd have plenty of time to escape. The Pooles also lived in Winterfell Forest, a ten minute bike ride up the road through the trees. Jeyne Poole had been Sansa's best friend since birth, Robb's girlfriend now for a year, and Sansa was sure that in another time, in a safer place, she would be calling Jeyne sister-in-law by now. But it wasn't a safer place. Their house was decaying and they didn't have the money or resources to repair it, nor the money or resources to relocate. So they lived in their caving-in house, thanking the Gods every morning that the roof hadn't yet collapsed on them all.

When Sansa and Catelyn had arranged the dishes and buckets in all the regular drip spots, Catelyn went back to her vegetables and Sansa went back to the window, peering out into the yard. The dirt path that acted as a driveway lead straight ahead into the trees. There were already muddy puddles forming, and the grass and trees were glistening, vibrant, and blowing in the lightly building winds. The pale blue truck that had rust holes in several places sat lonely under the large tree next to their house, its long tendrils of branches and leaves scraping the hood of the truck. Sansa wished her family had taken it to the Community Center instead of going on foot. Her father always left it at home when he could, though, in case Catelyn needed it for an emergency.

Arya's head popped out of the window next to Sansa's.

"Should we drive out to see if they need a ride?" she asked Catelyn, who was looking out the window on the other side of the door.

"Maybe," she said warily, hands against the sill, and then glanced to her right at the stove clock. It was 11:53. "Your father said they would be heading back before noon, didn't he?"

Arya disappeared from Sansa's side.

"I'll start the truck," she said, bouncing to the key hook on the right side of the door between the door and the window.

"I hope they're not caught out in this," said Catelyn, going back to the kitchen while Arya put on her shoes. "It would be better if they haven't left yet, I'd think."

Sansa was still staring out the window as Arya opened the inside door, so Sansa was the one to see them first. Robb was in the front, and he'd locked eyes with her briefly as he looked up from avoiding puddles to see how close they were to the house.

"They're back," Sansa called, taking her poem book off the windowsill and cranking the window closed before hurrying to her room. She left the poetry book on her bed and went back to the front doors to help Arya hold them open.

Ned and the boys were careening up the drive from the Forest, each carrying varying items in plastic buckets and bags and crates. They weren't paying attention to her, but she waved anyway. Arya looked grumpy, cheated out of getting to drive the truck.

"You should get away from the window, San," said Robb, coming up the porch steps first with two lidded pails full of fresh water and kissing her quickly on the head as he passed. "Especially when it's storming like this. You'll get struck."

Sansa would have responded had Theon not come up next, shaking his head in her direction on purpose to splatter her with water droplets. She gasped, tensing up ("Theon!") and he laughed, kicking off his muddy shoes and dropping his grocery bags next to where Robb had set the water pails. He followed Robb to their room to dry off and get changed. They were tracking water and mud everywhere.

Ned and Bran were the last in, having been carrying a medium-sized crate of groceries between them. They set it on the long, rickety wood dining table that was surrounded on two sides by the kitchen and on the other two sides by eight chairs. Bran took off to his and Rickon's room with a brief greeting to their mother.

"You're back soon," said Catelyn, giving Ned a kiss before he took off his jacket, shook it out once, and hung it on the hook next to the window on the left side of the door.

"The Com Center was more empty than usual," he said, and then nodded to the food crate. "Have a look at the pickings. See what you can use."

"I'm sure it can all be used," said Catelyn, starting to pull contents from the crate and setting them on the table.

Sansa came over to help her unpack it while Arya went back to the living area to the left of the door to continue practicing with her nunchucks.

"How many food tickets did this cost?" Catelyn asked.

"Less than the budget," he said. "Don't worry."

"Oh, I will," she said, and then as Sansa started preparing to slice up the chicken, her mother added, quite unnecessarily, "Sansa, love, will you slice up the chicken breasts?"

Thirty minutes later, everyone was filing in around the table, clean and dry, while Sansa and Catelyn put the food on the table. They usually ate basic meals - rice and vegetables, bean stew and rice, potatoes and rice, anything and rice - because they couldn't afford the more expensive fare. Once or twice a month, they saved up meal tickets to buy meat, but it was a rare occurrence since it was much more expensive in the North than in Central or South Westeros. Tonight, though, Catelyn and Sansa had not only made chicken stir-fry, three grain spiced rice, and Dorne-style potatoes with cream, but Catelyn had also decided on making a small tin of lemon cakes and a berry strudel as dessert using a specially rich dough recipe. Sansa couldn't even remember the last time they had dessert. Even more odd was the sight of a tall, dark bottle of something alcoholic that Theon procured from his and Robb's bedroom, giving it a little shake and winking when Sansa noticed.

"How can we afford all this?" she'd asked Ned earlier on when she and Catelyn were still prepping lunch. "And you said it was under budget, too."

Sansa worked at the Community Center, but she never bought anything there, so she didn't actually know how much anything cost, whether food or fabrics or alcohol. Liquor was a luxury they'd been unable to afford for quite some time.

"The prices are down since most of the people from Winterfell have gone South by now," her father had said. "I don't expect this will last, though, so don't get used to it."

Sansa already knew not to get used to it. Living in squalor surrounded by the Armageddon was not something she really ever wanted to get used to, even if it meant they got to eat dessert more often. Ten minutes into lunch, Theon and Robb were already tipsy and singing very loudly and surprisingly in-tune with an arm thrown around each other's shoulders while Arya laughed across from them. They were quite on their way to drunkenness by the time dessert was served, owing to the fact that the only other person to drink any of the wine was Sansa, and she'd only had a glass. At first, she'd assumed they'd bought it from the Community Center, but after tasting it, she'd changed her mind. It wasn't normal wine. She could tell that as soon as she drank it. It was much stronger, and she was even feeling the effects after only a glass.

Amid Robb's and Theon's guffawing and singing and goofing around, Sansa only barely heard the breaking news announcement on the radio. Arya heard it, too.

"Hang on, shut up," she said sharply, her chair grinding against the ground as she pushed it back and hurried to the radio. It was sat atop the long table behind the couch, nearest to her parents' seats at the table.

Silence fell as Arya adjusted the radio antenna and turned up the volume, the speakers crackling as she did.

_"... and since the Armageddon have already claimed Safezones 1, 2, and 3, we would highly suggest orchestrating an evacuation if you haven't done so already."_

Sansa swallowed, setting her fork down on her plate, abandoning her last few bites of her second lemon cake. Everyone around the table did the same, Robb leaning his crossed arms on the table, suddenly looking very sober.

_"You will find an evacuation point in Safezone 1 manned by several members of the Night's Watch. Remember, they can be identified by the large crow pin situated over their hearts, so keep an eye out for that."_

Arya scrambled away from the table and ran into the room Robb and Theon shared, and she hurriedly emerged with a pencil and a blank piece of paper she'd torn from a notebook. She normally didn't write down what the Night's Watch radio station announcers talked about, but there also hadn't been a breaking news announcement before.

_"Now, the Armageddon's next target is the Winterfell Forest, and we have it on good authority that they are already invading."_

Sansa locked eyes with her mother, seeing the same worry in her face reflected there. Everyone else around the table remained silent and somber. If the target was Winterfell Forest, did that mean Winterfell had fallen?

_"Please be advised to clear the area lest you risk becoming a prisoner to the Armageddon. The safest locales are currently all across the Narrow Sea to the lands of the East. For those unfamiliar with the routes to each city, you can find them on our website, TheNightsWatch.org.nw. Again, that is TheNightsWatch.org.nw."_

Arya was scribbling away the site address despite that they had no access to a computer, in their house or anywhere. Sansa went to the living area and sat on the couch, leaning over the back to better hear the radio.

_"We will quickly brush you up now, though, so have pen and paper ready, ladies and gents, pen and paper."_

Arya tapped the radio with her pencil, as if to acknowledge the comment.

_"There are three main passages currently open for evacuees. If you are located near the Stormlands, the Reach, or King's Landing, you can take a boat from King's Landing to Pentos. If you are South of King's Landing, make haste to Oldtown in the West, where you can take a boat to Lys, and then from Lys to Volantis. If you are North of King's Landing, you must make it to White Harbor, and take a boat from White Harbor to Braavos."_

Arya was furiously writing this all down, her scribbles likely unintelligible to anyone but her. Maybe _not even_ her.

_"Let me reiterate that once more."_

He did. Southerners to Oldtown, then Lys, then  Volantis. Those in central Westeros, to King's Landing, then Pentos. The Northerners - all those between Winterfell and the Twins - to White Harbor, which would grant them passage to Braavos. That was where they must go, then. White Harbor to Braavos.

 _"Moving right along,"_ said the man on the radio. _"For those North of the Twins, you should know by now that you are the only ones in Westeros who are in grave and immediate danger from the Armageddon."_

Someone sighed at the table, but Sansa didn't look up to see who, her tense face staring at the floor.

_"In making your evacuation, we implore you not to take the Kingsroad. We cannot stress this enough. This message is for Northerners only: stay off the Kingsroad whatever you do, for there is an Armageddon ally called Ramsay Bolton who is having it constantly patrolled and is on the lookout for anyone attempting to flee Westeros."_

Sansa looked up in time to see Catelyn share a worried look with Ned, both of whom were turned now facing the radio.

_"If you are East of the Kingsroad, you'll be wanting to head directly to White Harbor. However, if you are West of the Kingsroad, it is highly advised that you make it to the Night's Watch point in Safezone 1, or if it's closer to you, to Gambler's City - formerly known as Moat Cailin, for all you behind-the-timers. Gambler's City is one of the few remaining stops in the North which has not yet succumbed to Armageddon invasion, and it also leads directly to White Harbor. You will be able to find a Night's Watch transport to White Harbor from there, as well. But be warned, while you will always find a member of the Night's Watch to help you in Gambler's City, there are also those who would sell you to the Armageddon. Diligence is of the utmost necessity in Gambler's City, folks. That's all for this breaking news message. Please spread the word to friends and family that Winterfell is no longer safe."_

Another speaker came on, discussing how people may join the Night's Watch, and Arya turned the volume down. The house was still noisy though her family was silent (the rain was only just starting to die down outside, but the water from the roof was still dripping into pails and buckets and pots in several places).

Sansa dropped her chin onto her arms, which were crossed over the back of the couch, and she was wondering how she was supposed to get through her shift at the Community Center after this news. Should she even go? Did any of that matter anymore, if Winterfell had been conquered?

Catelyn was the first to speak.

"Have you got that all down, love?" she asked Arya, her voice steady, though tense.

Arya nodded.

"I've got it," she said, looking at her messy writing as she tapped the pencil on the paper.

She looked the least bothered out of all of them.

Ned stood, gently touching Catelyn's shoulder, and came toward Arya, who held out the notes without being prompted. He scanned the paper a few times while the others sat in silence, Robb with his arms crossed and leaning back in his chair, Theon with his elbows on his knees and his face pressed into his hands.

"We should leave, shouldn't we, Father?" asked Bran.

Sighing, Ned nodded. "We've got to head for Moat Cailin, off the Kingsroad. That means we've somehow got to make it through the now occupied Safezones."

"No, Father," Arya said, rising up on her knees to point to something she'd written earlier. "The announcer said there are men of the Night's Watch in Safezone 1. They can take us through the rest of the Barrowlands to White Harbor."

"They're not called the Barrowlands anymore, Arya," said Sansa, her voice sounding odd to her own ears. "They're the Safezones."

"Does it matter?" she asked.

Sansa supposed not. She didn't even know why she'd said it. She was starting to get a stomachache.

"You should get used to calling them what they are," she said meekly.

"Anyway, as long as we make it to Safezone 1 in the Northern Barrowlands," she threw a snotty look at Sansa beside her, "we'll be helped by the Night's Watch."

"We should pack," said Ned. "The sooner we leave, the better."

"What,  _now_ _?"_ asked Catelyn, shock plain on her face.

Ned looked at her. "You heard what he said. We're not safe here."

There was silence again. Sansa wanted to counter him, but she knew he was right.  _What if Jon comes back?_

"We'll have to speak with the Pooles," said Ned, setting the paper back down on the table at the back of the couch. "It's better if we all leave together. In the morning would be good, before dawn, around five."

"I can go over to their place now and tell them," said Robb, speaking for the first time since before the radio announcement.

"No one's home now," said Ned. "It's Wednesday, so Vayon won't be back until late tonight and Jeyne will be at the Community Center. Was she there? I didn't see her."

"I didn't see her, either," said Robb, his voice suddenly tinged with fear.

"She traded jobs with Myranda yesterday to be in the kitchens this morning," said Sansa. "You wouldn't have seen her."

Robb visibly relaxed, nodding.

"Sansa has a shift at the Community Center this afternoon," said Catelyn, and Sansa looked at her. "In a few hours, don't you?"

Sansa nodded. "I do. I can talk to Jeyne about it then."

"All right," said Ned. "Good. In the meantime, everyone should start packing. Lightly, only what you need. Once we arrive in Braavos, we can worry about replacing wardrobes and trinkets, all right?"

There was a murmur of assent as Arya and the boys all headed to large, deep brown storage cabinet just behind the dining table. Inside were a number of things, among them, the eight small, identical packs that were stored there for this very occasion. Ned had purchased them nearly a year ago when things got very bad for a while and it had seemed like the Armageddon was getting close to home. There had been nine bags originally, but one disappeared when Jon did.

Arya pulled out two bags (one for Sansa) and they went to their room next to the cabinet to start packing. It was a twenty minute bike ride to the Community Center from home, and since her shift started at 1:30, she had only ten minutes to pack and get ready before she had to go. Being late wouldn't matter much, though, even if she was fired for it because she was only a volunteer and got paid nothing for her time. She only did it to get out of the house and be around people.

In their bedroom, Sansa and Arya shared a dresser, which stood against the wall next to Sansa's bed and adjacent to Arya's. Because there wasn't a lot of room for two people to use it at once, it was awkward trying to rifle through their respective drawers for clothes and important mementos. After Arya's third irritated sigh and bumping her hip into Sansa, who was crouched to rifle through the three drawers on the bottom, which were hers, Sansa gave up. She didn't have time for this right now.

"I'll just pack later," she grumbled, tossing the clothes she  _did_ manage to retrieve onto her bed with the unzipped pack and the book of poetry. She put the book into the pack and piled all the clothes on it without folding them before zipping it up. At the foot of Arya's bed, right across from the door, was a coat rack that held some of Arya's things plus Sansa's bag and her dark green hoodie (one of Jon's old ones that she'd worn all the time even before he disappeared). She took them both off the coat rack and left Arya alone. The bathroom was blessedly empty, so she quickly brushed her teeth and her hair, not bothering with makeup, before heading down the short hall to the front door, side-stepping the buckets that still remained on the floor from before.

Ned and Catelyn were sitting at the dining table, talking quietly.

"I'm off," Sansa said, lifting the strap of her bag over her head to cross it along her chest, adjusting it until it was comfortable. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"You're done packing?" asked Catelyn, surprised.

"I'll have to do it when I get back," Sansa said. "I'm in a rush."

Catelyn nodded. "All right. Be safe."

"I will."

"Sansa," Ned said as she was putting on her shoes.

"Yes, Father?"

"Keep it quiet about us leaving. We don't know who's an Armageddon sympathizer. Just tell Jeyne, no one else, and don't be overheard."

"Just Jeyne," she echoed with a nod, straightening out. "I'll see you in a bit."

"See you, sweetheart."

"Bye, love."

Sansa left the house through the squealing porch door and skipped down the steps to the set of three bikes that leaned against the house near the truck. Hers was a pale yellow colour, sleek with thin tires and a well-oiled chain. The other two bikes were a little rusted and creaky since they weren't used as often, but they worked well enough after giving the chains a quick grease. Sansa hopped on her bike, her feet stabilizing her on the ground as she moved her bag off her shoulder to sit in the basket between the handlebars, and then she stepped on one pedal and pushed off to the drive.

She did her best to miss the puddles along the road and through the woods, but some couldn't be avoided, and she ended up splashing large sections of her jeans along her calves and knees. When a few stray splatters of mud from her tires hit her in the face, it only then occurred to her that the back of her sweater and her jeans would be speckled with mud, too.

She gasped: and her hair. With one hand on the handle, she pulled her hair over her shoulder to inspect it, and sure enough, it was gritty and dirty with mud. Irritated, she flung it back over her shoulder and biked faster. She'd just had a shower that morning.

Eager to escape the muddy dirt road, Sansa biked quicker than usual and made it to the Community Center in under twenty minutes, sweaty and dirty and a little out of breath. She shoved her bike into one of the few remaining spaces and headed to building. If the Community Center wasn't bustling when the boys were there, it certainly was now. The loud chattering of a hundred voices overlapping burst from the establishment the second Sansa opened the front door. She was well known there, being one of very few permanent volunteers, and so was greeted by everyone who saw her, none of whom mentioned her filth. The far right corner at the back of the Community Center had a door that lead to the kitchens, and so in front of that was where the small meal portions were dolled out at lunch time for those who had survival tickets proving they couldn't afford to buy their own food. Lunch time wasn't yet over at the Community Center, lasting from 1 PM to 3PM, so Sansa spotted Jeyne there behind the table with the other volunteers, hair stuffed up in a hairnet and wearing a grungy apron.

There were plenty of bowls, utensils, and napkins already prepared on the table, but Sansa grabbed another stack of unopened bowls anyway as she sneaked in behind the table. She started tearing them free from the protective plastic wrap that encased each individual one.

"Have you heard on the radio?" Sansa asked her under her breath.

Jeyne startled at her voice, having not noticed her approach, and glanced up as she dropped a ladle of steaming potato soup into a paper bowl. She handed it off to the patron, and Sansa handed her an empty bowl.

"I haven't heard a thing," said Jeyne just as quietly, ladling more soup. "I've been here since nine."

"We have to talk, then," said Sansa. "Come see me in the boiler room."

She left, exiting through the double doors to the kitchen behind her. Ladies wearing hair nets and aprons were bustling around, chopping on metal tables, stirring pots on one of several fire stoves, writing on charts, and being otherwise preoccupied so that they didn't notice Sansa slip through to the back door. It opened into a narrow hall that lead to a bathroom first door on the right and the boiler room at the far end of the hall, adjacent to the exit door on the left that was meant solely for kitchen workers.

Sansa had to squeeze past the boiler along the wall to get behind it, hiding just in case anyone came to the hall to use the bathroom. Instead of coming through the kitchens like she had, Jeyne entered into the hall from the outside door just beside the boiler room, peeking her head into the hall first to make sure she was alone. Then she joined Sansa, sliding past the boiler as Sansa had.

"What's going on?" she asked in a whisper, which was entirely unnecessary, as the noise in the boiler room was loud enough that it would drown out their speech from anyone outside. "Has something happened?"

"There's been news of the Armageddon encroaching on Winterfell," Sansa said.

She recounted everything she heard as concisely as she could, leaving out extraneous detail, but being sure to include that the Safezones were now no longer safe, and that the Armageddon was encroaching on Winterfell Forest, as they'd already taken Winterfell, supposedly.

"By the Seven," said Jeyne, slumping back against the wall, looking defeated. "We're done for. They'll catch us."

"My parents want to leave," said Sansa, arms crossed, one hand holding her opposite elbow. "Everyone at my house is packing already. Not a lot, just enough to get us through Safezone 1 to White Harbor."

"I don't understand. You just said the Safezones are occupied."

"They are, but the Night's Watch has people in Safezone 1, too. They're transporting evacuees to Gam City and White Harbor. If we can find a member of the Night's Watch in Safezone 1, then we'll be safe. We should all go together, us and you and your father. Gods know Robb would never leave you behind anyway."

"This seems so sudden," said Jeyne, biting the insides of her cheeks. "Your parents are sure we can do this?"

"We don't have much of a choice. Do  _you_ want Ramsay or the Armageddon to come knocking on your door."

Jeyne scoffed. "Of course not."

"Me, either. Which means we've got to try to get out."

"Okay," said Jeyne, nodding. "Okay, I'll tell my father. When are we leaving? How do we do it?"

"Tomorrow morning before dawn," said Sansa. "If you're ready by five, we'll drive to your place with the truck and get you and your father, and then my father will drive us to Safezone 1."

"And then from there, we'll find a brother of the Watch and get safe passage to White Harbor. Right?"

"Right," said Sansa, nodding at her once before squeezing past the boiler out of the boiler room. "Hopefully. That's the plan."

Jeyne followed her out, and Sansa grasped her arm to hold her back.

"You can't tell anyone," said Sansa. "Just your father."

"I won't, but ... why not? Is it a secret?"

"Father thinks there could be sympathizers," said Sansa. She was a little paranoid even on the best of days, so she was inclined to agree. "It's not safe if anyone overhears us."

"Of course. But I'm not sure I'll have all the details for my dad."

"That doesn't matter," said Sansa. "Just tell him to be ready to go at dawn. Or before five, is better. My father can explain the rest then."

"All right," she said, looking anxious as she reached for the door handle. "I'll tell him."

Jeyne's eyes were caught by something, so Sansa looked, too, seeing that the door was already being held open by someone on the outside that they couldn't see. Sansa shoved the door open hard, and the person on the other end made a small noise of surprise as she stumbled back so as not to be hit. It was Myranda, and she'd clearly been eavesdropping. She was now staring at them, as frozen as Sansa was.

Jeyne didn't seem as worried.

"Myranda," she said, her hands smoothing out her apron. "What were you doing out there?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but Sansa spoke first.

"She was listening to us," said Sansa, her father's words echoing in her head.

 _Don't be overheard_.

"I didn't mean to spy on you," she said quickly. "I thought you were someone else."

"Who?" Sansa asked sharply.

"Patrice and Bryna," she said without missing a beat. "They make the clothes here--"

"I know who they are," said Sansa, paranoid. "Why would you be spying on  _them?"_

Myranda merely stared for a moment before sniffing like a snoot.

"I hardly think that's any of your business."

Sansa meant to retort that she hardly thought it wasn't, but Jeyne surprised her by piping up instead.

"Should I go and tell them you thought you were spying on them, then?" she asked.

Myranda looked like she was having a difficult time suppressing her scowl. Finally, she huffed out a sigh.

"They were making up lies about my boyfriend," she said sharply. "I wanted to catch them at it and confront them."

Sansa stared, analyzing her face to see if she was lying. She didn't look like it. Sansa looked at Jeyne at the same time Jeyne looked at her, a similar expression on her own face. Sansa looked back at Myranda.

"It's not nice to spy," Sansa said, holding the door open for her.

Myranda hesitated before coming in.

"Wouldn't you, if you knew people were spreading horrible things about your boyfriend?"

Sansa thought of Jon. "I don't have a boyfriend."

Myranda didn't look like she cared. She started off down the hall first at a quick pace, her nose in the air.

Sansa let the door close and then she and Jeyne followed, slowly and at a distance.

"Who's her boyfriend?" Jeyne asked quietly, leaning close as they walked.

"I don't know," whispered Sansa as Myranda burst through the door to the kitchens. "I can't think of anyone who would want to date  _her_. _"_

Jeyne hid her laugh behind her fist as they emerged into the kitchens after Myranda. They were spotted that time, no doubt thanks to Myranda's sloppy entrance, and promptly lectured about propriety, mostly because Sansa was so dirty. They were ushered out a moment later, and Sansa was instructed to use the front door when she left so as not to parade her filth through the kitchens.

"I'll see you in a bit," said Sansa, leaving Jeyne at the serving table while she shuffled out.

"See you," said Jeyne, dusting her hands off on her apron before picking up a paper bowl and dolling out soup again.

Sansa's job at the Community Center was working in the textile section, sewing and mending clothing with the other seamstresses. Sansa wasn't actually a tailor, but she'd been making lots of her own clothes and her siblings' since she was very young, and everyone who saw her creations was surprised they weren't manufactured in a shop. She was a favourite in the Community Center, and people wanted their clothing repaired by her, even made by her, if they could.

As per usual, Patrice and Bryna were whispering to each other and cackling while they worked folding and sorting fabrics. They were the most gossipy women she'd ever met in her entire life, so Sansa was generally in the know about everything just by being friends with them. Not that she really cared to be in the know about everything. All she wanted to be in the know about was the Armageddon and how close they were to capturing her family.

Patrice's laugh cut off when Sansa slid into the textile corner.

"You, my girl, are  _late_ ," she said, dropping her chin and raising her eyebrows at Sansa, peering at her over the rim of her glasses.

Sansa let out a short laugh at her expression and took off her bag to set it in the corner with theirs.

"Sorry," she said. "Not by much, though. What's a few minutes?"

Bryna scoffed. "Exactly, what's a few minutes, and you've already been asked for _three times_ by patrons."

"Really?" Sansa asked, dropping her chin on Bryna's shoulder when she was behind her. "Where's my stuff, then?"

Bryna nodded to a cardboard box stuffed with some clothes and then rolled her shoulder to get Sansa off.

"Oh, don't be such a grump," said Sansa, smiling.

Bryna rolled her eyes.

Bryna and Patrice were both older than Sansa, Bryna by five years and Patrice by eleven, but they and she and everyone else who met them thought their ages did  _not_ suit their personalities. Bryna seemed like more of a nineteen year old than Sansa did, and Patrice certainly didn't act like she was thirty.

Sansa grabbed the cardboard box by one of its sleeves and dragged it along the plastic table until it was in front of her. She glanced around as she did, making sure there were no spies around, but still lowered her voice, just in case.

"Just a heads up," she said, and Patrice and Bryna both leaned forward, always eager for the hot gossip. "Jeyne and I caught Myranda listening in on our private conversation and she said she'd thought she was spying on you."

Bryna's jaw dropped.

"That little blighter! What's she spying on us for?"

But Patrice's line of questioning was different; suspicious.

"How would she think she was spying on us. Doesn't she know what we look like?"

"She was on the other side of a door," said Sansa, pulling a torn jacket from the cardboard box. "And she said you were spreading lies about her boyfriend."

Patrice snorted. "I'm sure she did. Does that bint even have a boyfriend?"

"Shouldn't _you_ know?" said Sansa, looking at her. "You seem to know everything. And I figured you would remember who you were talking badly about."

Bryna laughed, bumping Sansa's arm with her own.

"Patrice talks shit about everyone," she said. "It would be impossible to keep track of them all."

Sansa couldn't argue with that.

A while later when she was halfway done mending the second article of clothing, Patrice huffed indignantly, as though she was in the middle of an argument with someone.

"You know, I really can't put my finger on what it is about that Myranda girl, but I just _don't_ like her."

Sansa and Bryna both snickered together.

"I daresay you're not the only one," said Sansa.

She looked around for Myranda without even realizing she was doing it, and spotted her donning a garbage cleaning jumpsuit, orange with black horizontal stripes. Bryna spotted it at just the same moment.

"Is there a more fitting job?" she asked before turning back to the length of thin white cotton she was handling, picking a large piece of fluff off it. "They should throw her in the bins after and be done with it."

"Would you just look at her smarmy little face?" said Patrice, and Sansa couldn't help but let out a little laugh. Patrice shook her head, looking baffled. "I still don't believe she has a boyfriend. She must have been lying about it. Who could want to date her?"

Bryna hummed. "Maybe she's one of those crazy girls who calls the men they stalk their boyfriends."

Sansa could tell she was just being mean, but Patrice gasped and whirled to face them.

"You know, that makes so much sense because I heard she's got the hots for Ramsay Bolton."

Sansa nearly dropped the pair of pants to the dirty ground.

_"Ramsay Bolton?"_

She couldn't help her stunned tone or the volume of the words. Patrice shushed her with a laugh.

"That's the word on the street," she said.

Bryna snapped her fingers and pointed one at Patrice.

"And who do you talk the most smack about?"

"Ramsay Bolton," said Patrice.

Sansa nodded. " _Definitely_ Ramsay Bolton."

They were silent for a long moment before Bryna snorted.

"Can you imagine wanting a tumble in the sheets with that guy?"

Patrice leaned toward them, one hand curled around her mouth to hide it from view from everyone else in the building.

"I'd prefer the Armageddon's Night King to Ramsay Bolton," she whispered.

Sansa laughed, leaning back in her chair and shaking her head, pulling the threaded needle through the patch she'd made in the pants.

She was a little afraid to say it out loud, as apparently Ramsay had eyes and ears everywhere, but Sansa thought very much the same as Patrice.

It was nearly an hour later, when Sansa had finished her mending and was in the middle of folding and sorting fabrics with Patrice and Bryna, that the women starting talking about Jon.

"And how about that news about Jon Snow?"

Sansa stood ramrod straight, her heart giving a funny little jolt at the sound of his name being said so casually out in the open instead of in her own mind when she was alone. Her hands faltered with the fabric and she looked over.

Bryna scratched the back of her neck with her pointer finger.

"Jon Snow?" she asked. "Didn't he run off to the East with that girl with premature white hair?"

Sansa's brow knit together. She felt like she couldn't breathe. Did he? Was that what happened? Was it common knowledge where he was? But that couldn't be it. He'd written her love poems. Why would he write her love poems and run off with another woman?

"What?" Patrice said sharply. "Who's that? Premature white hair - what are you on about?"

"I don't know," said Bryna with a shrug, unperturbed by Patrice's severe tone. "That's just what I heard."

"Well, it's rubbish," said Patrice. "He joined the Armageddon a long time ago."

Sansa came out of her stunned stillness at that.

"What?" she said with a laugh. The statement was so ridiculous that she couldn't help it.

"It's true!" Patrice insisted, her brows raised. "He's just been made a top General or Commander or what have you."

"That's absurd!" said Sansa, finally coming back to herself and shaking out one of the long strips of soft, white cotton. Of course they wouldn't know what happened to him. She was silly for thinking they would. All the two women heard were baseless rumours. "Jon would never join the Armageddon."

Recognition dawned on Bryna's face and she gave a little gasp.

"Oh, that's right," she said. "You grew up with him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did," Sansa said, folding the fabric into a neat triangle on the table. "He's the nicest guy you'd ever know."

Patrice looked a little hesitant after that, a little wary, as well ... a little like she was pitying Sansa.

"He's not part of the Arm," said Sansa, rolling her eyes and setting the folded cotton sheet onto the pile with the others. "It's just not plausible. Makes zero sense."

Patrice's voice was softer. "I've seen him on the TV."

Sansa was still for a long moment before she snapped her head around to meet Patrice's eyes. Bryna looked just as shocked.

"You have?" Bryna asked, coming closer. "You didn't say anything to me!"

Patrice looked at her, exasperated. "Well, am I supposed to tell you the name and sex and birth of every Armageddon warrior?"

Bryna's eyes flicked to Sansa, and then Patrice looked back at her, too.

Sansa didn't like the way they were looking at her, hesitant and apologetic and sympathetic, so she took a step back and swallowed, shaking her head as she grabbed another unfolded length of pink fabric.

"No," she said, shaking the textile out harsher than she'd done with the others. "No, it couldn't have been him. You must have seen wrong."

"Look if you don't believe me," Patrice said softly, and when Sansa met her eyes again, Patrice nodded to the cracked television screen across the room.

Sansa looked, but she didn't know what the woman was trying to prove. There was a man dressed as an Armageddon warrior standing front and center, smile on his face as he spewed the propaganda Sansa had heard enough of in the last few months to last a lifetime: The Night's Watch were a dangerous terrorist group, they should be avoided at all costs, they'd unfairly circulated the name 'Armageddon', but it wasn't what the 'White Walkers' were about. The White Walkers didn't want to hurt anyone. They wanted a fair and just society, and oh, look, at our wonderful 'White Walker Commander and crew members' doing their dutiful and beneficial work, clearing out the rubble that the Brothers of the Night's Watch had created in an unprompted attack.

Sansa was shaking her head, her eyes still on the screen.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be see--"

But then the camera suddenly focused on the background to highlight several other Armageddon warriors who were working to move aside rubble from some explosion apparently caused by the Night's Watch. The Arm warriors were oblivious to the fact that they were being filmed. There was a man, the Commander, directing them as he helped move the stone, his frame unmistakably and horribly familiar.

Sansa dropped the sheet and rushed out of the small enclosure to the television, snatching the remote from the end table it sat upon, and she turned the volume up. In the background, nearly drowned out by a different man's voice who was talking about 'propriety' and 'duty' and 'saviours' was a voice that she could recognize anywhere. It was as deep as before, as gravelly as always, and it was coming from the Armageddon Commander who looked just like Jon.

She'd never in her life felt what she was feeling right then. The betrayal was a physical pain that tightened her stomach and her heart and her throat, only very slightly balmed by the overwhelming confusion she felt alongside it. This wasn't  _Jon_. The person she'd known would never join the Armageddon, never in a hundred thousand million years. He was the sort of man who would fight  _against_ the Armageddon. He would defend the civilians  _from_ them, not be a part  _of_ them. This didn't make sense. Was that really Jon? She looked harder, leaning slightly closer to the television. She'd only seen the profile of the man's face so far, had only heard his voice and seen his posture, and sure, all of it looked and sounded and seemed just like him, but it just couldn't be. It just couldn't. Then his face turned in the direction of the camera, looking at someone off screen, and the fear and anxiety was chased out of her body by disbelief, deep sadness, and a feeling that she could only identify as 'grief'. Her face was slackened, the tension gone from her body and her shoulders, and she merely stared as he turned back to the rubble, helping another of the Armageddon warriors move aside a huge boulder.

Was this why when he disappeared, he did it without a word? Did he not want to deal with the Starks and their anger? With them preventing him from joining, which they certainly would have? Was that why he left and never came back, never wrote, never said anything at all about what he was doing? Because he'd joined the other side?

She thought of the last poem he'd written for her, the one where he said he would miss her most of all. He knew he was going to leave. This was a calculated thing he'd done. He'd planned it all along. She was head over heels for this person, smitten when it came to Jon Snow, and he'd ran off and joined the Armageddon.

When the picture on the television screen changed, now showing Ramsay Bolton smiling kindly at a grateful refugee family who were certainly actors, crying in relief at his saving them from a Night's Watch attack, Sansa dropped the television remote onto the couch and turned away. She walked back to the table where Patrice and Bryne were still standing, the fabrics abandoned in favour of watching her.

Sansa couldn't wrap her head around it, any of it. She was so confused, a large part of her refusing to believe that he was fighting for the Arm despite that she'd just seen it to be true. She couldn't even feel relief at knowing he was alive, and that in itself made her angry, as though he'd taken away her right to be happy at finally seeing him again. Why did he do this? If he was fine, if he was healthy and alive and fine, then why did he join the Armageddon? Sansa had been so eager to see him for so many years, hoping against hope that he was okay. Her whole family awaited his return, tried to remain convinced that he was all right and that he would be back. Sansa had daydreamed about him coming up the drive, of throwing herself into his arms on the porch, of the relief and bliss and onslaught of tears that would ensue, of the way he would hug her back like he never wanted to let go. His poems convinced her their reunion would be a sweet one, so she anticipated it more eagerly than anything. She'd never let herself believe he was dead for more than a few minutes at a time - at least after she'd found the last poem for her - always convincing herself that it was Jon, strong Jon, and that he would be okay. He might have been gone, but it wasn't forever.

She wondered if maybe that would have been preferable. Would she like it better if he was dead? Would she rather he be gone forever instead of being a part of the Armageddon? In that moment, the answer was a resounding 'yes'. She knew the feeling would pass when her anger did, but right then, she was very angry, and she would have preferred him being dead to him doing  _this_.

"Are you all right?" Bryna asked softly, when Sansa slid back into the textile area.

She touched Sansa's shoulder when she didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say.

"I guess so," she said quietly, grasping the pink cotton slice of fabric she'd abandoned before, shaking it out. "I don't know. I don't know if ... I don't know."

Was it possible to be in physical shock from this kind of news? It must be.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said, unable to meet Patrice's eye. "That I didn't believe you."

"Oh, no, don't do that," said Patrice, sounding a little awkward. She rubbed Sansa's back. "It's going to be all right."

Sansa nodded, saying nothing, and folded the pink sheet of fabric into a careful triangle.

The rest of her shift went by rather quickly, as occupied as she was in her thoughts. Patrice and Bryna didn't say much else to her, didn't even say much to each other. Or maybe they had and Sansa just didn't realize. At the end of her shift, she was stunned by how much work she'd done, as she could hardly remember any of it.

"You know," said Bryna as Sansa pulled her bag back over her shoulder, readying to leave, "this probably isn't any consolation, but he's no Ramsay Bolton."

Sansa glanced up, feeling pathetic and vulnerable and stupid for being hopeful.

"That's true," said Patrice, nodding, gently squeezing Sansa's shoulder when their eyes met. "Everyone talks about how evil Ramsay is, how evil _most_ of the Arm is, but I can't remember ever hearing anyone say anything like that about Jon Snow."

When Sansa felt her hopes rise, she crushed them herself, as much as it hurt, because she knew she was being stupid.

"He can't be a good person if he's part of the Armageddon," she said quietly.

Neither of the woman had a rebuttal for that.

"Thank you, though," she said, turning to leave. "For trying to make me feel better."

"Sure," said Bryna. "Well, see you tomorrow."

Sansa paused, looking over her shoulder, her mouth opened to speak. She very nearly said that no, they wouldn't.

"See you tomorrow," she said, giving them a weak smile, and staring a bit too long to be acceptable because she just realized this would be the last time she would ever see them.

She considered telling them of the plan, asking them to come with her, but Jeyne strolled up next to her and linked her arm through Sansa's, and Sansa decided not to.

Once they were outside at the bike rack, alone in the woodsy area with the sun just starting to set, Jeyne tapped her lightly on the arm.

"Did something happen?" she asked. "You look weird."

Sansa could have been tactful about telling her, but the information still hadn't quite sunk in it, and she didn't really care about tact.

"Jon's part of the Armageddon."

Jeyne was quiet for a long moment before she let out a short laugh, just like Sansa had when she'd first heard it.

"Of course he's not," she said, unlocking her bike and pulling it from the rack. "Don't be stupid."

"I didn't believe it at first, either," she said, pulling out her own bike. "But I saw it during my shift. I saw him on the television with the other Arm people."

Sansa started off down the path home on her bike despite that Jeyne was quiet, sitting frozen on her bike behind her. After a very long few seconds, she heard her push off after her, her voice loud and affronted when it rang out.

"Wait-- _what?"_

* * *

On the way home, Jeyne had made Sansa feel a little better, even getting her to laugh at some of the things that had happened during her shift. Not for the first time, Sansa was more than a little grateful to have Jeyne as a friend. Having no one to talk to about this would have been horrible. But after she'd dropped her off, there was nothing left to distract her from what she'd seen. The whole bike ride home after dropping Jeyne off, Sansa thought only of how to tell her family about Jon-the-traitor. He'd betrayed them all, he'd joined the Armageddon, he was the same as Ramsay Bolton, he was the same as every other despicable volunteer who worked for the Arm, even if people said he wasn't. Her family would be outraged. Robb would be so hurt that he'd be livid, the same way she'd been herself. Arya wouldn't believe Sansa no matter what Sansa said. Bran and Rickon would accept it easier, but they'd still be hurt. Ned would blame himself. Catelyn would tell them all there was nothing any of them could have done. Sansa felt like she was continually moving in and out of shock.

When she finally arrived home, she parked the bike next to the others and climbed up the steps to the front door. The inside door was open. The outside one squealed on its hinges as she opened it. She could hear the shower running across from the front door at the other end of the house, and she could hear loud, heavy metal music blaring through the walls of her bedroom. Sansa lifted her bag over her head and dropped it with a  _thud_ to the ground, idly kicking off her shoes. She didn't know she wasn't alone until Robb spoke from the ground in the living area, lying between the couch and the large coffee table.

"Hey, are you all right?" he asked, sitting up.

Sansa stopped, her face blank as she looked at him.

"Why are you on the floor?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Shouldn't I be?"

"You're so weird," she muttered, continuing on toward her room to pack.

"Hey, wait," he said, dragging himself to his feet and coming to stand in front of Sansa, stopping her with his hands on her arms. "What happened?"

"I have to tell you something," she blurted.

Robb looked alarmed. Well, he looked like he was trying to pretend he  _wasn't_ alarmed.

"What is it?"

Sansa took a deep breath, her mouth open to speak, and then she hesitated, and then her shoulders fell and she exhaled.

"I told Jeyne about the plan," she said. "She's at home packing."

"Gods," he said, shoving her a little when he dropped his hands. "Did you have to start off all dramatic-like? I thought something had happened. Why do you look so ill, then?"

"It's cold out," she said, walking around him.

The muffled music grew instantly loud and irritating as soon as she entered her bedroom. Arya was sitting cross-legged on her bed, drawing something that looked like it matched the horrible death metal playing in her stereo. Sansa always yelled at her for listening to those CDs. Stereos had headphone jacks for a reason. She didn't say anything this time, though, simply heading to the dresser and dropping down to her knees to start packing, which was why it surprised her when the sound was abruptly cut off. She glanced over her shoulder to see Arya stuffing earbuds in her ears with one hand and turning down the volume on the radio with the other, her eyes still focused intently on her drawing.

With a sigh, her heart softening just a smidge toward her little sister, Sansa emptied the contents of her three drawers and started sifting through all the items and clothes and gifts she had to her name.

It took her nearly thirty minutes, but when she was done, she had her favourite clothing folded and piled next to her, all her most special mementos from Jeyne and her family organized neatly in rows, and her favourite CDs and hand-sewing tools, yarns, and fabrics stacked together. It wasn't until she pulled her pack off her bed that she remembered she'd started packing earlier, so she'd either have to work really hard to make everything fit, or she'd have to leave behind more clothes. And then it wasn't until she'd pulled the clothes out that she saw Jon's book of poems, and her heart gave a painful tug that caused a heat to bloom in her chest, radiating up her neck and warming her face. She didn't know if it was anger. She didn't know if it was hurt. It didn't feel good at all.

When she lifted the poetry book out of the pack, she thought about tearing up each and every poem, of burning every single one he'd written for her, of burning them all. She felt stupid for ever even binding the pages together, as though they were special, as though Jon meant something.

 _He did, though_ , she thought, defeated, clenching her jaw and smacking the book onto her night table.  _He used to._

Sansa started putting her clothes into her pack, still trying to wrap her head around 'Jon' and 'Armageddon' and the two being connected. It was still so hard for her to understand. She'd thought she'd known him so well, she'd thought he was a nice guy, the nicest guy in the entire world. How was it possible to be so close with someone, to live with them almost her entire life, and to still be blindsided by their actions?

 _But isn't that exactly what happened with the poems?_ she thought, dread seeping in to her chest. She didn't know him, not at all. Did she ever?  _I didn't know he had feelings for me; I didn't know he was an Armer_.

Supper that evening was hard for her to get through because she had to put on a face like she was all right in order to avoid questions, and she had to eat, which she really didn't have the stomach for. No one seemed to notice, though. They all had a lot on their minds. All evening, Sansa kept wondering if she should tell her family about Jon or not, if they would want to know or not, if they would be  _better off_ knowing or not. She couldn't even really say why she was so afraid to tell them, just that she hated it so much, she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want anyone to talk about it, anyone in the entire world. She wanted it to disappear from existence.

Later that night while everyone was in bed, the shock finally wore off completely. Jon's book of poems was still sat atop her end table, alight with moonlight, and Sansa could only lie on her side and stare at it. After a few minutes, she rolled over to face the wall, turning her back on it. It felt like turning her back on Jon, once and for all. She wasn't angry anymore. She didn't feel betrayed. She just felt very sad, and very helpless, and for the first time since she'd first read Jon's final poem to her, she buried herself snugly beneath her blankets, and she wept.

* * *

What felt like seconds after she'd closed her eyes, Sansa was being shoved awake.

"Get up, Sansa, get  _up!_ "

Sansa snapped her eyes open to see Robb, his face easily illuminated by the moonlight coming in from the large window next to Arya's bed.

"Robb?" she asked, grumpy, and then rolled over. "What are you doing? I have to sleep."

"Get up, Sansa, we have to  _go_ ," he said, jerking her back around. "The Armageddon's already in the woods."

Her expression froze and her breath left her. She lurched up, scrambling from bed.

"What do you mean? How? Are they here?" she asked, imagining them coming up the driveway.

"No, not yet, but they're close," he said. She didn't realize it earlier, but she saw now, standing this close to him, that their were tear tracks down his cheeks. "I went to Jeyne's to ... to spend some time with her before we had to leave, but when I got there, I saw them. They were going into her house, the Arm warriors."

Sansa's heart sunk straight down to her stomach.

"Are you sure it was them?" she asked, her words rushed together. "Not the Night's Watch?"

"Of course not the Night's Watch," he said, stepping away and picking up her packed bag that she'd left at the foot of the bed. "I know what the Armageddon looks like. We've got to go. Father's already loading the truck, come on."

"Wait, what are you--" she stopped him, taking a long stride closer. "They _took_  her? They took Jeyne?"

He nodded. Sansa felt her throat close.

 _No,_ she thought, wanting to say the word, to deny him, but nothing came out. She shook her head.  _No._

"I know it's hard, Sansa,  _I_ know," he said, his voice suddenly cracked and raw and vulnerable, "but we have to go or the same thing happens to us. We have to go. Get dressed. Come on."

Robb stormed from the room before she could say anything else, taking her bag with him. Sansa's heart was hammering in her chest, her face and neck and skin all hot with panic and adrenaline. Her best friend - her  _best_ friend -  _my best friend!_

She yanked the muddy, dark green sweater from the coat rack and shoved it on as she ran from the room and down the stout hall. Robb and Theon were already rushing to take all the packed bags from the house into the bed of the truck where Ned and Bran were assembling them. Catelyn was on the couch, her arm tight around Rickon's shoulders.

"Mom, we have to go get Jeyne," said Sansa, knowing it was impossible, but also knowing Jeyne would do the same for her. "We can't let the Armageddon have her, this is stupid."

"Sansa," said her mother, already shaking her head, "love, I know this is hard, but we have to get out of here at once."

"Mom!"

"Robb saw  _six_ Armers, Sansa," she said, her voice quiet, but it seemed somehow loud to Sansa, imposing. "Six of them. They carry weapons. We have nothing here, nothing to defend ourselves with, and Rickon is ill."

Sansa felt hopeless.

"She's my best friend."

"I know," said Cat, "but you are my daughter, and your father and I are not putting any of you in harm's way for anything. That's just the way it is. Put your shoes on. Hurry up, Sansa."

Sansa listened, feeling afraid and guilty and worried, and she couldn't help but say it out loud.

"Someone heard me tell Jeyne we were leaving."

Catelyn snapped her head around to look at Sansa.

"What did you say?"

Sansa swallowed, not meeting her mother's eyes, for she was far too cowardly.

"There was a girl who was spying on us when I told Jeyne we were leaving--"  _at five_ , she'd meant to finish, but then she looked at the clock above the stove instead, and her heart sank.

4:34. It couldn't be a coincidence. Myranda had to have been in touch with the Armageddon. She had to have told them.

Her best friend was gone, then. Her best friend was gone and it was all Sansa's fault. She'd be killed, or made a member of the Armageddon, she'd be  _tortured_ , she'd be maimed, and it was all because Sansa hadn't been paying more attention to the fact that a door was  _open_. Her father had said it, to make sure not to be overheard, and Sansa had been careless anyway. This was her fault. This was her fault.

The sound of quick footsteps ascending the deck stairs had Catelyn lurching off the couch, leaving Rickon, and coming quickly to Sansa's side.

"Don't tell Robb," Catelyn whispered in a rush, holding Sansa's face in both hands, rubbing away tears Sansa didn't know had fallen. "He doesn't need to know."

The door opened immediately after and Robb stepped in. The truck was already started, rumbling in the driveway.

"We have to go," he said.

Catelyn looked once more at Sansa and then ushered Rickon out of the door. Robb urged Sansa on, and she started to go, but then she remembered the poetry book.

"Wait," she said, starting to turn. "My--"

But then she stopped. What was she talking about? She didn't care about those poems anymore. She didn't want anything from Jon, any poems or gifts or anything at all. They were like love letters, and while the thought warmed her heart in the past, now it only filled her with shame. It was embarrassing that she'd been the object of an Armer's affection.

And he'd been the object of hers.

"Sansa!"

The breath left her and she turned back to the door.

"Sorry," she said, hurrying out of the house. "Sorry, let's go."

Sansa climbed into the back before Robb, squishing in next to Arya, with Theon on her other side and everyone else in the front. Robb climbed in just after, and before he'd even slammed the door shut, Ned was off, hurtling down the driveway.

"Father, they'll see us if we go past Jeyne's house," said Robb.

"I know," said Ned, his voice less controlled than usual. "We'll take the grass path to the right up ahead. We should miss them. You said they were on foot, Robb?"

"I think so," he said, voice catching slightly as he put his seat belt on. Sansa did the same. "I only saw Mr. Poole's car in their lot."

"Then we should have no trouble outrunning them," said Ned as they approached the grass path, maybe ten yards in front of them.

"Does them being on foot make sense, Ned?" Catelyn asked, sounding unsure.

It didn't make sense to Sansa, either.

"You're sure you didn't see a vehicle, Robb?" Ned asked.

"I'm fairly certain."

"Well, it doesn't matter why," said Ned. "We don't need to worry about that. As long as we can make it out of the woods--"

The trucks' headlights bounced as the truck jumped through a rut, and that was when Sansa saw it: a single Armer dressed in Armageddon garb, wearing a low hood, illuminated the truck's headlights and and charging down the road from Jeyne's toward them. Sansa could have screamed. She clutched Robb's arm, her heart rate instantly rising to a rapid pulse.

Ned stepped on the gas, the truck sputtering as he did, and for one horrifying moment, Sansa thought it was about to die. But it roared back to life, and they were at the turn off already. The gear stick creaked when Ned shifted it, and they merged right onto the grass road, swinging away from the Armer who was sprinting toward them. Sansa looked out the back window as they careened down the unmaintained path, but she couldn't see the Armer anymore. Without the truck's headlights, he was bathed in darkness. She couldn't stop staring out the window, though. It took her a minute to realize her hands were shaking. It was minutes before she faced the front again, convincing herself that there was no way a person could outrun a truck.

"That's weird that only one of them came for us when there were six in the woods," Arya said eventually, her voice very quiet, but it seemed loud against the silence.

Theon grunted, his voice also low when he spoke.

"They're armed. One with a weapon is enough to face the lot of us without. He probably came for a slaughter, anyway. Didn't expect we'd be awake."

An unbidden shiver ran through Sansa's body, and she sank a little lower in the seat. She didn't want to believe that was true. She didn't want to believe Jeyne was dead, it was too hard.

The drive out of Winterfell Forest was the longest, tensest hour of Sansa's life. She'd clutched Robb's arm the whole way and held Arya's hand tightly with the other. Arya kept looking out the back window every few minutes to make sure there were no pursuit lights behind them in case the Armers had a vehicle that Robb just hadn't seen. Sansa was too afraid to look back anymore, afraid that she'd be the one to spot the approaching Armageddon, but whenever Arya faced forward again without voicing a warning, Sansa's relief was massive. When they emerged from the trees onto the main road, the sun minutes away from kissing the horizon, it was like the actual truck itself relaxed. Or maybe that was just the feeling of the tension in the air finally dissipating. They were safe now. They'd made it out of Winterfell, they were off the Kingsroad, and they were headed to Safezone 1. Everyone was quietly sighing all around her.

Sansa did, too, until she remembered Jeyne and what she'd be going through right then. She felt so guilty, not only for being responsible for all of this, but for not going back to save her. Not that she could have. She would have got herself captured, as well. She would have endangered her whole family, because if she'd run off to Jeyne's, they would have gone to get her. It must have been so hard for Robb to leave. When Sansa looked at him, he was staring out the window, quiet.

 _I'm sorry,_ she thought, resting her head on his shoulder. He touched her for a moment, giving her knee a squeeze before drawing his hand back to his lap.  _I'm sorry I wasn't more careful_.

She had a similar string of thoughts dedicated to Jeyne. And though it made her feel stupid and childish, she hoped that Jon would learn about Jeyne's capture, that he might keep her safe. Jon had grown up with Jeyne, too. She was always over at the Stark house, or Robb, Jon, and Sansa were over at hers. At the very least, she couldn't imagine that Jon would let harm befall Jeyne, or any of Sansa's family should they ever be taken. Even if he was an Armageddon Commander. Her stomach clenched whenever she remembered it, thinking,  _I can't believe it_ , thinking,  _How could you?_

"Get some sleep, kids," came Ned's soft voice. "It will be a few hours before we're at the Barrowlands."

He met Sansa's eyes in the rear view, his own soft and apologetic, and she had to look away. He'd be so angry with her if he knew this was her fault. She'd put them all at risk. She pressed her cheek tighter against Robb's shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut. She had to believe that Jon wouldn't let Jeyne be tortured. She had to. Armer or not, that just wasn't him. And what was it that Patrice and Bryna had said? They hadn't heard anyone say anything about Jon being horrible, and if  _they_ , of all people, hadn't heard it, then that must have meant something. She had to believe it, she had to, because the Armageddon had Jeyne now, and it was Sansa's fault, and she had to be okay.

Swallowing, Sansa squeezed Arya's hand tighter and shut her eyes, trying to sleep.


	2. Safezones & Sandor: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was meant to be only four chapters, but this one would be waaaay too long unless I cut it in half, so it's going to be split into two parts. Sorry for any mistakes! I always tend to miss stuff in the editing process, unfortunately :(

When Sansa stepped outside the refugee club, a light drizzle cooled her bare arms, the sky a pale, overcast grey.

In the three days that she and her family had been in Safezone 1, Sansa learned to keep her head down and take the less travelled paths through town. According to the radio, there were spies everywhere. Winterfell had been one of very few strongholds in the North, so once it was taken, Armageddon warriors had spread out to all unconquered areas, including the Barrowlands. The Night's Watch was said to be holding them off on the town's outskirts, but only just.

Sansa's family hadn't seen a single man wearing a crow pin in Safezone 1, likely owing to the fact that they were all heading off the threat further North, but she still searched whenever she could. Robb had suggested making it on foot to Safezone 2 instead of waiting for the fighting to die down, in case it  _didn't_ die down, but Ned wanted to stay for two more days before making a decision. Instead of abandoning the truck, they stashed it in the woods outside Safezone 1, just in case they did have to go alone.

Her family was staying at the refugee club in the center of town. It was a massive building that used to function as a gymnasium. It had three floors - one underground and two surface level - and at least a hundred cots all throughout, set up in neat little rows. Sansa and her family were late arrivals, so they were given the undesirable location of the highest floor near the center. The basement level had a separate entrance for quick exit, but the uppermost floor was an ambush waiting to happen. They took shifts staying awake every night, just in case.

There were several amenities in Safezone 1, including a marketplace similar to the Community Center in Winterfell Forest. As in Winterfell, typical currency had become obsolete in the Safezone, but instead of meal tickets, people traded time, items, and labor. Ned, Robb, and Theon all traded the latter in exchange for meals while Sansa and Arya helped cook and gather food from greenhouses for basic items they hadn't taken from home, like soaps and toothpaste.

The whole place felt a little culty to Sansa, but she didn't tell that to anyone. She'd thought about how Jeyne would laugh with her about the strangely intimate, large prayer circle that gathered in the refugee club every night, but that just made her stomach sink. She hoped for the hundredth time that Jon had somehow learned of Jeyne's capture and was keeping her safe, even if he was an Armer. She didn't like to think about that either. She didn't want to think about anything, she just wanted to be on a ship to Braavos.

Currently, Sansa was on her way through the light rain to the communal kitchen to help with food preparation. Arya hated working on the cooking shift, but Sansa didn't mind it. It was nice being around so many bustling women and having that sense of community, listening to sweet older ladies call her 'love' while less sweet older ladies told crass jokes. It reminded Sansa of home, of all her friends, of stitching in the Community Center with Bryna and Patrice. But that made her sad, too. It was horribly inconvenient to be sad every time she thought about home, but she suspected that wouldn't be going away for some time. She just hoped Bryna and Patrice had heard the announcement and made it out before it was too late.

As Sansa approached the kitchens, she noticed there was a haggard-looking man slumped in the mud in the alley right against the cookhouse, a round flask held loosely in his lap. His legs were long and stretched out right across the alley, feet pressed to the other building. Sansa moved cautiously closer, knowing she could never be too careful about the people here - even, or especially, the drunk ones - and came to stand in front of him. If she needed help, she would be heard if she screamed. But upon closer inspection, she realized he was unconscious.

She gently nudged his thigh with her foot, and he swatted her away. So apparently not unconscious. But he didn't seem dangerous either. He was really rather pitiful.

"Are you all right, sir?" she asked, bending her head to see him.

He grunted in response, turning his face away from her, as though hiding. His wet, shoulder-length hair was flopped over his features, so she couldn't see him anyway.

Sansa bit the corner of her lip.

"If you come in out of the rain, I can get you a bowl of food," she said sweetly, putting her hands in the pockets of her pale blue jean shorts.

"Nothing to trade for food," he grunted, his voice scratchy and deep.

Sansa didn't think that was possible. Even slouched as he was, she could see he was a big, muscled man. Men of his stature and build were not common in Safezone 1. He could certainly trade his labor for food.

"You seem to be a capable man," Sansa said. "I'm sure you could help someone with ... chopping wood? That would get you at least a couple meals."

He said nothing in response, and Sansa stood over him for a bit too long to feel comfortable. Sighing, she took a large step over his legs, half-expecting him to grab her and do something. He did nothing, though, and she went on her way, only glancing back once to see him taking a pull from his flask.

Sansa knew she was being irresponsible by feeding him, but it wasn't like she was forfeiting any of her family's meals, just her own. She didn't need three a day, anyway. She was fine with just two, or even one, if need be. The man outside looked like he had nothing but alcohol. A part of her whispered that he obviously traded something for  _that,_ but Sansa would be remiss to let someone go hungry, especially given the current state of the world. And maybe he would give her some of his booze in exchange. Fair trade, she thought.

After she traded in one of her meals, she spooned as heaping a bowl as she could of that day's lunch menu, which was ham and pea soup. It had loads of vegetables and thick, soft dumplings, plus the broth was homemade (she'd helped make it the day before) and there were no added preservatives. She didn't think this man would care at all about that, but  _she_ did. As she left, she quickly snagged an umbrella from the umbrella box at the door, making sure she wasn't seen. She'd put it back later.

The man was still there in the alley when she returned with the hot bowl of soup balanced on a plate in one hand and the umbrella in the other. He didn't look up when she approached, though she could see one of his eyes as it looked at her shoes. He must have recognized them, but he didn't acknowledge her; not until she used her teeth to unwrap the Velcro band of the umbrella and attempted to open it by unceremoniously shaking it out, lifting her foot to fully extend the fabric. The man looked over, then, perplexity written across his face. When she saw how horribly scarred the right side of his face was, Sansa froze, nearly causing herself to fall from imbalance. He seemed to realize this, too, and snapped his face away from her. She stepped both feet on the ground, swallowing.

"I don't need a bloody umbrella," he growled.

Sansa's heart was racing, and she was ashamed about why. She hadn't been scared of him before, but her blood spiked now. His face was so burned. She'd never seen anyone like that before. It made him look frightening. Or maybe that was just the scowl on his face. Silently berating herself for being so cruel, Sansa let out a quiet breath and dropped the umbrella in order to free her hand. She held the plate in both hands and crouched, holding it out to him.

"Here," she said when he did nothing.

He glanced over, eyes falling on the soup before lifting to meet hers. Sansa blinked a few times, resisting the urge to stare at the burned part of his face, and held the plate a little closer.

"I'll trade you for a little drink of that," she said, nodding to his canteen.

She was surprised when he actually took the bowl from her and started eating, partially because she'd judged him as a stubborn person who would resist, and partially because the soup was still piping hot. He either had a high tolerance for scorching liquids or he just didn't care. Maybe he was just that hungry. Sansa knew what that was like.

Both hands now free, she properly opened the umbrella and held it over him, scooting closer in her crouch so she could be shielded, too. He didn't react at all, chewing large dumplings in only a few bites before swallowing. Sansa crossed her arms over her knees, resting her chin on her arms.

"Go ahead," he said, nodding to the flask in his lap.

She thought it a bit weird to reach for something that was clearly balanced directly against the apex of his thighs, but she didn't think he meant anything by it. He kept eating when she took it and pulled off the lid, and he didn't tell her to stop when she took a very long pull. She corked it, her hand hovering as she stared at his thighs, wondering if it was appropriate to set it back on that same spot.

"You can have the rest," he said gruffly, already half done his soup.

Sansa wouldn't say no, not when she'd given him one of her meals. There wasn't much left anyway, so she drained the whole thing, shivering and shaking her head a little at the taste. It was so potent that she wondered if maybe he didn't trade anything for it at all; maybe he made it himself. Instead of setting the empty canteen back on his lap, she put it a bit lower on his thighs, just above his knees. That was strange, too, but she didn't want to make it muddy for him. Although she couldn't really imagine him caring, seeing as he was sitting in the mud as it was.

Sansa scratched her neck, looking at his chest. He was wearing a lot of clothes, rumpled together with several folds, very capable of accidentally disguising a pin if he was wearing one.

"Are you a member of the Night's Watch?" she asked carefully.

He snorted. "No, girl, I'm not a ruddy crow," he said, gruff. She hadn't really had her hopes up, so his admission wasn't a disappointment. "Bunch o' useless, good-for-nothing swindlers, that's all they are."

Sansa frowned, staring into his soup bowl. She knew that wasn't true.

The man looked over at her.

"You don't believe me?" he asked gruffly, tipping the bowl to his lips to slurp down some liquid before shoveling more vegetables into his mouth. "Where's your brave Night's Watch now, then? Not taking you to White Harbor like they promised."

Sansa lifted her eyes to his again, her lips parting lightly.

"You're looking for safe passage, too?" she asked.

He narrowed his eyes, lowering his bowl slightly and searching her face for something. And then, appearing satisfied with whatever he saw, he went back to eating, finishing off the soup.

"Do I look like I need safe passage?"

Sansa's eyes flicked to the burned side of his face. She couldn't actually see it, as she was crouched on his left side, but she knew it was there.

"No," she said after a moment.

"No," he agreed with a nod, dropping the spoon into the bowl with a _clatter_ and jerking the plate to her. "Doesn't mean I don't know about the _Night's Watch_. You're better off going alone."

Sansa held the plate in one hand and rearranged the umbrella with the other, the rain pattering harder now on the parasol canopy.

"I don't know the way," she said, eyes focused on a small mud puddle forming beside the man.

The man stared at her long enough in silence that she lifted her eyes to his face.

"You can come with me," he said. "If you want to."

Sansa recoiled a little, searching his face. He gave nothing away.

"You're one of those kidnappers, aren't you?" she asked, heart rate slightly picking up. "Stealing people for the Arm?"

He snorted and it turned into a loud, full laugh.

"No, girl, I'm not," he said, looking at her like he thought her stupid, much to her irritation.

"Stop calling me girl," she snapped quietly, avoiding his gaze.

"I'll call you what I like, girl."

Sansa stifled a sigh, looking at him again. He seemed like he was waiting for her to say something, and it took her a moment to realize it was because she hadn't said anything about his offer.

"I'm not here alone," she said, briefly glancing at the hidden, burned part of his face and then down to the ground. "I came with my family from Winterfell Forest."

"Winterfell Forest," he repeated, nodding. "Place is a ruddy bloodbath now, from what I've heard."

Sansa didn't say anything for a moment, thinking of Jeyne. When she spoke, her voice was meek.

"My friend was taken by the Arm."

"She's dead, too," said the man, perfectly unfazed. "No use in thinking about it."

Sansa rose to her feet, staring down at him. The difference in height made him tilt his head to see her, and the hair obscuring his disfigured skin fell away.

"Do you have to be so cruel?" she asked. "Have you ever heard of the word 'compassion'?"

He clenched his jaw.

"When you're living in this kind of world, caring about people gets you killed. Best not to."

Sansa blinked, her brows knitting.

"So you just don't care about anyone?" she asked.

He didn't answer at first, tilting his head back further and away from the umbrella to let the rain come down on his face.

"I'm still alive," he said gruffly, eyes closed. "Does that answer your question?"

Sansa stared a moment longer before adjusting her grip on the plate and turning to go back to the kitchen.

"Does my face frighten you, girl?" he called, sounding disinterested.

Stopping, Sansa glanced back to see him watching her.

"No more than you do," she said, continuing forward again and leaving him there alone in the rain.

It was a lie, but at least she might ease his discomfort a little. It didn't matter if his face was frightening to people. He shouldn't feel the need to hide it from anyone like he'd done with her.

The next two days, Sansa saw the man around the safezone partaking in communal trading. Sometimes he was carrying large bundles of wood on each shoulder, other times he was chopping down trees, or going hunting with the other swarms of men. Sansa realized that, while correct in her assessment of his large build, she hadn't known quite how big he was. Someone of his size would likely intimidate her if she hadn't first seen him looking piteous in the rain and mud. Add to that the fact that he seemed to use his face as a weapon, intentionally frightening people when they disagreed with his methods of doing things, Sansa was really quite glad of how she came to meet him. He didn't seem to be ashamed of his face around anyone but her, always scowling and looking away when he noticed her watching him. He must not have believed her, then, when she'd said she wasn't afraid of the way he looked. Figures ... Sansa was never very good at lying.

The days went by the same as every day prior. When it was bright out, Sansa and her family did their tasks to afford food and amenities while keeping an eye out for a member of the Night's Watch, and at night, they took turns staying awake and listening quietly to one of several radios in the refugee club. There was never any news, only more of the same. The Night's Watch was holding off the Armageddon, and those in the safezones - especially Safezone 1 - needed to be on the alert in case a prompt escape was necessary.

It was midday on their fifth day in Safezone 1 when her family all conjugated to talk about what to do. It was just before Sansa's shift cooking, so they met outside the kitchens. Sansa noticed the big, scarred man across the yard sitting at a picnic bench, watching her. He was wearing the same dirty, white tank-top he wore everyday and eating a sandwich with a side of mashed potatoes. It was the first he would have seen of her family, since he spent his nights sleeping outside instead of in the refugee club. Sansa felt oddly protective of them under his stare, and shielded her mother, Bran, and Rickon as best as she could.

"We've been hearing talk of the Night's Watch falling back to the Barrowlands," Ned said lowly. "A few of the other workers here are readying to leave. Should be any day now. Keep on the lookout for those crow pins."

Sansa shifted her weight, nervous.

"How much longer are we going to wait for them?" she asked.

"Two more days at the most," said Ned. "Then we're leaving, with the Night's Watch or on our own."

They all agreed and then dispersed, but Arya held Sansa back, forcing her to lean down to speak lowly into her ear.

"There's a spooky-looking man watching you," she said, barely moving her lips. "To your right on that bench."

Sansa nodded, pulling back.

"I know," she said. "I know him. Sort of."

"Well, he's really weirding me out," Arya said warily, stepping away, glancing again at the man. "Call us if you need anything, yeah?"

"Of course."

She waited until Arya was gone before approaching the man, standing at his left. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, barely tilting his head to see her, still hiding his burns from her.

Sansa rolled her eyes.

"I already know what you look like, and I don't care," she said, hesitating before speaking again. "Why were you staring?"

"Just checking in on all the conspiring."

"It's my family," she said. "We're allowed to conspire."

"Something happening?" he asked, taking an over-large bite of his sandwich.

Sansa blinked. "Don't you listen to the radio?"

As soon as she asked it, she knew it was a stupid question. The man had already told her about his opinion of the Night's Watch. He wouldn't be tuning in to their radio station.

He grunted in response, saying nothing.

"The Night's Watch are coming through," she said. "That probably means the Arm is, too. You should get out of here while you can."

"Take your own advice, girl," he said, a little coldly. "I don't need someone like you ordering me around."

Sansa frowned. "I wasn't. I was just trying to warn you. If you want to be caught by the Armageddon, be my guest."

"If you were any kind of smart, you'd leave now before the Night's Watch _or_ the White Walker cunts show up."

"Take your own advice,  _man_ ," she said, though it didn't come off nearly as condescending as she'd meant for it to.

He seemed keen on ignoring her. Sansa crossed her arms.

"We're going with someone from the Night's Watch because we can't make it on our own," she said, looking around, as though she might spot one right then. "Whenever they show up."

He said nothing again, evidently done with the conversation, but Sansa stayed standing there. He just kept on eating.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Sandor Clegane," he said at once.

Sansa stared a moment before nodding.

"I'm Sansa," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake.

He blinked at it. "I didn't ask."

Sansa rolled her eyes dropped her hand.

"Fine," she said, backing away. "Keep calling me 'girl', then."

She turned and left, and didn't see him all through her shift in the kitchens.

Afterward, she went back to the refugee camp to listen to the radio. Normally her mother and little brothers were there, but when she climbed the stairs to the second floor, she saw Robb instead. He was sitting on the end of his cot facing away from her, fiddling with the radio.

"You're here early," she said when she got close. "Where are mother and the boys?"

He glanced back at her before returning his attention to the knobs.

"She took them to see Father when I got here," he mumbled.

"Why are you here anyway? Shouldn't you still be with Father and Theon?"

"We overheard some weird stuff during work," he said, finally turning the knobs in precisely the right way so the static cut out and the voices of the Night's Watch radio speaker came through loud and clear.

"What kind of weird stuff?" she asked, pushing his shoulder so that he moved over for her to join him.

"About the Armers being close," he said, turning the volume a little higher. "Someone saw a man dressed in Arm clothes in the woods apparently. I wanted to see if there was any news."

Sansa nodded, crossing her legs and propping her hands on the edge of the bed, leaning closer.

"I haven't seen a crow pin on anyone," she said. "Maybe they're all skipping over this safezone."

Robb shook his head.

"They wouldn't have advertised it on the radio if that was the case."

They said nothing for a while, listening to the man on the radio talk about each of the evacuation points in Westeros, about Winterfell's current state of occupation, about being on the lookout for Armageddon sympathizers, friends and family that might never be suspected. The man was talking about how to spot if a loved one had turned sides when Sansa swallowed, looking down at her rugged boots.

"Jon joined the Armageddon," she said quietly.

Robb stilled beside her before looking over. She couldn't meet his eye, afraid of how he might look. He turned away just as quickly and nodded.

"I know."

It was her turn to freeze, glancing over at him.

"You do? How?"

Robb's throat bobbed. "Saw it at the Com Center a few weeks ago. He was in one of those propaganda videos."

"Oh," she breathed, turning her attention back to the radio. "Yeah, I saw that, too. Did you tell Father?"

"I didn't tell anyone," he said quietly.

Sansa was quiet for a moment, listening to the man on the radio.

"Why not?" she asked.

Robb shrugged a shoulder. "Same reason you didn't, I suspect."

"Who says I didn't?"

"Your cowardly personality."

Sansa shoved him.

"I do  _not_ have a cowardly personality."

Robb let out a quiet, breathy laugh, but it died just as quickly as it came.

"I figured that was why you were so upset that day you came back all ... spacey ... from your shift."

He looked at her, awaiting confirmation, and she nodded.

"I found out that day."

Robb nodded too, sighing heavily.

"Must have been weird to see him like that," he said, and then paused before adding, "I know you had a thing for him."

Sansa had never talked to Robb about any of it, but he'd seen the last poem Jon wrote, just as the rest of her family had ... the goodbye poem to her. He knew Jon had feelings for Sansa. He also knew that Sansa read those poems to the point of memorization, despite that he'd been gone for years.

"I can't believe he did it," she said after a moment, heart clenching at the thought of sweet, soft, quiet Jon being allies with someone like Ramsay Bolton.

Robb nodded, but didn't say anything for a while. When he did, he sounded sad.

"Guess we didn't know him as well as we thought."

Sansa agreed, but she didn't want to say it out loud. It felt like a betrayal to Jon, despite that he betrayed them all first.

"You know that book of poems he wrote?" she asked after a minute.

"Where he professed his love?" Robb asked, faux swooning.

Sansa blushed, laughing a little. Robb hadn't seen any of the more illicit poems, thank God.

"That would be the one," she said. "I left it behind." She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I kind of regret it."

"Really?" he asked, sounding surprised.

Sansa nodded. "All that's left of the old him was in those poems. Now he's just ... another Armageddon warrior. Another Armageddon _Commander_."

Robb hummed, but said nothing. When she looked over, she saw him playing with the ring on his right ring finger. It was from Jeyne. Jeyne wore her own ring from Robb on a chain around her neck. Sansa couldn't remember seeing her without it. Just thinking about it made her want to cry.

"Do you think he'll make sure nothing bad happens to her?" she asked quietly.

She knew Robb would know her meaning. He tensed all at once.

"I can't really think about that right now," he said, clipped.

Sansa nodded, looking back to the radio. "Okay."

She wanted to tell him everything, that it was her fault Jeyne was captured, that she'd been reckless talking about the plan in public, but she couldn't make herself say it. Maybe he was right ... maybe she was a coward.

The radio host abruptly went silent, and muffled, rushed speech could be heard in the background. When the host spoke again, he sounded urgent.

_"We have a breaking news broadcast. This is an emergency situation. The Armageddon has arrived in Safezone 1. I repeat, the Armageddon has arrived in Safezone 1. We are calling all residents and refugees to evacuate the vicinity immediately. The Night's Watch has been overtaken._

_"This is an emergency situation. The Armageddon has arrived in Safezone 1...."_

Sansa looked at Robb, meeting his stunned expression. Screaming erupted outside and they both snapped their heads to the window. Robb bounded across the room, through the beds and to the window to look into the streets below. Sansa started shoving all their things back into their packs. They'd left most of their possessions in their bags in the first place, having been prepared for something like this.

"We've got to go," Robb said when he returned, helping her load up. "People are running everywhere out there."

There was more screaming.

"Everyone's out there, Robb," Sansa said, panicking as she clumsily zipped Arya's luggage, the zipper catching on a shirt. "Mother and Father, Arya--"

"I know that!" he snapped, hiking his and Theon's packs on his shoulders and taking Bran's and Rickon's in his hands. "We'll go through the back door."

Sansa jerked Arya's zipper on through the shirt and gathered the remaining bags before hurrying down the stairs with Robb. There weren't many people in the refugee club, but the ones who were there were scattering fast.

The front door banged open and more people rushed in, heading to their cots to gather their own belongings. Sansa had only just glanced at them when Robb was shoving her along again with a commanding, "GO!"

Before the building became crowded, they made it out through the back and took off in the direction they knew their parents would be. It was awkward running with so many bags, scrambling through the throngs of people, luggage knocking on this person and that. Sansa hadn't seen anyone in Armageddon clothing yet, but if people were running like this, they must have been close.

Sansa and Robb met their family halfway, the rest of them already together and apparently on their way to the two of them. When they were all together, they shoved through the crowd to where the commotion was thinnest. Everyone took their respective bags while Ned detailed the plan, that they were going to get back to the truck and try to find Safezone 2 on their own. Sansa was squeezing Arya's hand very tightly.

"How will we get to White Harbor without the Night's Watch?" Sansa asked, panicky.

None of them knew the safe routes.

"We can't find a Night's Watch man anyway," said Theon, looping the straps of his bag over his shoulder. "There's no time anymore."

Ned nodded. "He's right. We'll go on our own, that's our only chance now--"

"There!" Arya shouted abruptly, pointing into the crowd. "There's one! He's wearing a crow pin!"

Sansa snapped her head around, her eyes searching through the frantic horde before noticing something glint in the sun. There was a man dressed all in black several yards away, directing people and wearing a crow pin proudly over his heart, shiny and impossible to miss.

"Everyone, go!" said Ned, guiding Catelyn along as she lifted sickly little Rickon into her arms. "NOW!"

Eyes dead set on the Night's Watch member, they ran with all their might through the mass of bodies, Ned in front and Sansa taking up the rear. The man was beckoning people over, throat straining as he shouted, but the cacophony of voices was too loud for Sansa to make out his words.

Someone jostled Sansa, causing her to stumble, and then she was knocked to the ground by a pair of hands pushing their way through the escapees. She crawled on the ground a moment, breaths coming in harsh and scratchy, but as soon as she made it to her feet, someone slammed into her, knocking her to the ground again. Sansa crawled as fast as she could to the closest building, hands being stepped on, ribs being kicked. Finally, she folded herself inside the barn with the horses, who were all whinnying and trying desperately to break themselves free of their stalls.

Gasping, clutching her lungs, Sansa clambered to her feet and raced to one of the opened windows, free hand gripping the ledge. It was almost impossible to find her family in the crowd, but the backs of their heads were unmistakable. They were still pushing their way through the crowd to the other side, racing after the Night's Watch member, who was now leading a group of people away from the commotion. They wouldn't realize she'd been left behind. They wouldn't know they'd abandoned her.

And then gunshots went off and more screaming pierced the air, several people in the crowd ducking and shielding their heads, including her family. Sansa stuck her head out the window, looking to the right to see a swarm of Armageddon warriors with weapons - cleavers and guns and daggers - hacking their way through the fleeing crowd. More gunshots went off and people jerked before dropping like flies. They were picking everyone off.

Sansa shoved back into the building and took off in the opposite direction, away from the Armers, away from her family, and back to the entrance of the safezone.

 _Get to the truck, get to the truck, get to the truck_.

It was all she could do now. She tried desperately to convince herself that she was making the right decision, that her family wouldn't wait behind for her, that it was too dangerous to try to get to them, that she'd seen them link up with the Night's Watch member, that they'd be fine. She would have to meet them in White Harbor, or maybe even in Braavos, she didn't know. But her best shot of getting out was taking the truck.

She ran along the outskirts where there weren't as many people, no one to jostle her around, and she finally, finally broke through to a quieter area. All the fighting, the screaming, the sounds of guns, it was all behind her, growing more and more distant. She almost wasn't expecting the truck to be there, paranoid something else would go wrong, but she saw it through the trees, mirrors glinting in the sun.

But then she skidded to a halt, almost falling to the gravel, but catching her hands on the dirt last minute. She didn't have the keys and she didn't know how to hijack a vehicle. She stood frozen to the spot for a moment, breathing heavily, staring with dread at the truck. And then she turned and raced back to the stable. She couldn't ride a horse, but it had to be easier than hot-wiring a truck.

The crowd had thinned out somewhat, but not so much that she could be singled out in the crowd. She hurried on toward the stables, skin hot and sticky with sweat, but her eye caught on a familiar pin in the opposite direction, as though it had been calling to her. It was the Night's Watch member from before, the one she knew her family had reached. It was a Godsend. Changing tactics, she hurtled toward where he stood at the edge of the crowd. But then she was shocked to a stumbling standstill when she saw he had his head bent in discourse with someone wearing distinctly Armageddon garb.

She couldn't believe it. A Night's Watch man was allied with the Armageddon? She took a few shaky steps back and bumped hard into a tree behind her, knocking the air from her chest.

The Armer nodded emphatically to whatever the Night's Watch man was saying, and then the Armer jerked his head back, saying something. The Night's Watch man swallowed and shook his head, and then the Armer snapped his head up, searching wildly around through the crowd. When she saw his face, Sansa's breath caught in her chest.

_Jon._

After finding out he was an Armer, she hadn't known if she'd ever see him again, but she'd thought if she had, she'd feel nothing but betrayal, and regret, and sadness. She was mistaken. She was afraid of him, knew she'd be in danger of capture if she spotted her, but she was also so, so relieved. It had been so long, and there was a time she'd thought he was dead, but he was right there ... separated from her only by several feet. On the other side of a crowd whose voices she could no longer hear, whose bodies she could no longer see, who she might not have even known were there in that moment. He looked so different, so tired and maybe even a little crazed, but still so like himself, still so much like the Jon she'd known.

His eyes locked suddenly on hers, and he froze, blinking rapidly. She didn't move, staring at him as he stared at her, but then there was another round of gunshots, and the moment was broken. Jon turned to the man who'd fired.

"I'd ordered no attacks!" Jon shouted, his low voice the same as she remembered. And then he was battering through the crowd to get to her. His words reminded Sansa of what he was, a highly respected Commander of the Armageddon. He wasn't someone who was on her side, and he was coming for her.

Sansa ran again for the barn, not looking back. She ran and ran and ran, but then skirted around the stables in a panic when she realized all the horses had already been taken.

"Sansa!" Jon yelled, his voice much closer than it had been before. "Wait!"

Heart pounding in her chest, she followed the rampaging crowd to the edge of the woods where she knew there was a road leading ... somewhere. As long as it was 'away', she had to take it. But she knew Jon would catch her, or someone would. She was a fast runner, but he'd always been faster.

Instead of taking the road like everyone else, she weaved her way through alleys and buildings just to get him off her trail. She didn't know if it was working; she didn't dare look back.

And then, like a miracle, she turned a corner and spotted a horse loosely tied up outside a rickety cabin. It was saddled and carrying heavy bags over its back. Through the cabin windows, she could see two Armageddon warriors inside, ransacking the place, and Sansa knew she was seconds away from being caught.

She ducked down as much as she could and ran to the horse, trying to be quiet on the rough dirt. The sounds of her steps didn't seem to give her away, but the jingling of the reins did.

"Did you hear something?" someone asked inside.

Sansa froze, hands trembling against the rope she'd  _nearly_ freed from its knot.

"Go check," the other man said at the same time as Sansa heard thundering footsteps approaching around the corner behind her.

She snapped her head over her shoulder, yanking the rope free just as the door to the cabin banged open beside her, and behind her, Jon burst into view. He came to a jerky halt when he saw her, nothing between them but space, and Sansa could barely think. She threw herself onto the horse, nearly toppling off as she swung it around and kicked it hard in the ribs like she'd seen people do in movies.

By some miracle, it actually worked, and the horse neighed before taking off, headed right toward Jon. On instinct, he swerved out of the way half a second before she barreled into him, and she clumsily lead it back down the way she'd come.

"Sansa, stop!" he yelled. "Sansa!" And then in the next second, much more harsh, shouted, "LOWER YOUR WEAPON!"

Whoever was about to shoot her apparently complied, because there was silence behind her aside from something wooden being broken, the horse pounding away as she lead it around the houses and back to the road out of Safezone 1.

* * *

Sansa wasn't sure if she was lucky or not, given the last few hours. She'd made it out of Safezone 1, but only after separating from her family, who'd sought out help from someone who was clearly in cahoots with the Armageddon. Jon was there, though, so she knew whatever happened to her family, he wouldn't let them be killed. He'd ordered his subordinate not to shoot her, so he'd do the same for the rest of her family. She was at least confident about that now. It even eased her anxiety a little. If Jon knew anything about Jeyne's capture, then he'd not let her die. Sansa had to believe that.

After travelling a while, she came to a bend in the road and spotted, through the sparse woodland, a large, fortified archway far off in the distance. It took a minute to step down from the horse, as she had no idea how to get off, but after building up her courage, she took her feet from the stirrups and slid unceremoniously to the ground, falling on her incredibly sore bottom. She groaned when she stood, the entire lower half of her body aching. Dusting off the dirty back of her jeans, she took everything useful from the bags on the horse - mostly just food items, some dried meat and dried fruit, a few bottles of water, boxes of matches - and stuffed them into her own bag before guiding the horse to the trees. She wasn't about to head into the second safezone on a horse who was decked out in Armageddon gear. So she left it there in the woods, knowing it would just meander on its way whenever it felt like it, and she emerged back onto the road, heading to the archway.

As she walked slowly through town, hands holding onto her backpack's straps, it didn't take long for Sansa to realize Safezone 2 was no safer than Safezone 1. It was crawling with Arm warriors, especially the further in she went. She didn't make eye contact with them as they patrolled, carrying guns and knives so long they might as well have been swords. Safezone 2 was occupied, as well, then. But they weren't killing anyone like they'd done in Safezone 1. There were people around, regular citizens that certainly seemed wary of the Arm warriors, but they were going about their business, hanging their laundry on clotheslines outside their houses, speaking quietly with one another.

It was a police state. Sansa would be caught if she stayed. If this many Armers were here, then Jon would have no problem making his way in, and if the way he'd chased her was any indication, he wouldn't let her leave. She wouldn't let herself become a captive.

So she wandered around for a while, keeping to herself and trying to find the edge of town so she could find the way out. But when she did, moving slowly so as not to rouse suspicion, she stopped dead when she saw the gate going out was locked and guarded by Arm warriors, ten foot high fence on either side wrapping around the perimeter. Trying to appear inconspicuous, doing her best to breathe evenly through her nose instead of hyperventilating like her pounding heart demanded she do, Sansa took the nearest left turn and stayed close behind other people meandering through the streets and popping through shops.

She had no idea what to do. She'd had no trouble getting in, but would it be as easy to get out the same way? And if she did? She didn't know the way to White Harbor. It didn't matter, though, for when she found her way back to the entrance, she found that gate was locked and guarded, too. The lockdown must have been a recent thing. She should have been faster.

From what Sansa had heard of the so-called 'White Walkers', she knew they only took prisoners for a few reasons: men for fighters, builders, and captors; women for fighters, wives, and sacrifices. That meant her options were being killed for some kind of death ritual, forced into a relationship with one of the Armers, or being made to fight against the Night's Watch, who were the only spark of hope left in Westeros. Sansa thought she might prefer the death ritual of all three. She'd never killed before, and she didn't want to have to.

Eventually, Sansa sat on the sidewalk outside a quiet restaurant and leaned against a lamp post, thinking. She was stuck here, evidently. Her family was gone, which could have been a bad thing since that Night's Watch member was speaking with Jon, but she tried not to worry about them. They would be worried about her, too.

Sansa closed her eyes and leaned her head against the lamp post, picking up bits and pieces of conversations as people passed behind her. No one really knew what was going on, most sharing opinions on the reason for the sudden lockdown. A few people gave her odd stares as they walked by, whispering to their companions. It was unnerving to the point that Sansa eventually left, accidentally making eye contact with someone who'd stopped on the sidewalk to stare at her as though he knew her. It was difficult to rush off without actually rushing, but she managed.

As soon as she made it into a mostly deserted alley, the sort of location of which she'd grown trusting as of late, she took her bag off her shoulder and crouched down, setting it on the ground. She didn't know why she was being looked at, but it was making her uneasy, making her paranoid. She had nothing by the way of disguises, but she did have a hoodie ... Jon's old green one. Despite how warm it was, Sansa pulled on the sweater over her pale blue tank-top and lifted the hood over her bright hair, brushing it back away from her face and beneath the hood before rising and slinging the pack back on her shoulders.

No sooner had she stood did she see a very familiar face turn down her alley with a man in tow at the opposite end. It was Myranda, the snotty girl from the Community Center back home. And she was with Ramsay Bolton. Sansa would recognize him anywhere, as he was known to be one of the cruelest White Walker Commanders in the entire regime.

She quickly spun and went back, immediately folding into the nearest branching off alley she could find. But then she stopped, facing a short dead end flanked by two tall, brick walls, each containing a solitary wood door with a peephole. If she hadn't already been seen by the pair, there was no way she wouldn't be now. But she'd also be seen if she back-pedaled, and seeing as Myranda would recognize her straightaway, she didn't think that was a great idea.

She tried the door on the left wall as their voices grew closer. Locked.

"What do you want with  _her?"_ Myranda was asking, her voice whiny as Sansa spun and quickly tried the other door.

It was locked, too. She was stuck. Should she just walk out?

"Jealousy is not becoming on you," said Ramsay Bolton, voice like ice.

Sansa swore under her breath and made to leave the enclosure and walk away from them when Ramsay's next words halted her.

"You know that incorrigible mutt Jon Snow wants her," he said, saying Jon's name like a curse. "I intend to tie him to a chair and force him to watch while I rape her."

Tense, Sansa silently backed away from the mouth of the alley as Ramsay stopped just before it. She could see his arm as he pressed his hand against the stone, could see Myranda's hand lower down, clutching the edge of the wall.

"If you see this Sansa Stark," Ramsay said softly, "you bring her to _me_ , understood?"

Sansa was holding her breath, mouthing a swear as she tried the doors once more to no avail.

"I understand," said Myranda, her voice wavering slightly.

"You won't like what I do to you if you betray me," he cooed.

Sansa had no weapons, nothing to defend herself with, nothing to--

The lock on the door to her right slowly turned, clicking.

"I would never betray you," said Myranda as Sansa tried the door handle, which, blessedly, turned. "I love you."

"Quiet," said Ramsay when Sansa opened the door and it lightly creaked. "Did you hear that?"

Sansa hurried inside, silently closing it and turning the lock back in place while trying not to puke. So Ramsay Bolton really  _was_ Myranda's boyfriend. And he had some personal vendetta against Jon, who ... wanted her. A quiet clunk sounded behind Sansa, and she whirled, nearly forgetting she wasn't alone in the room.

It was the big burned man she'd met in Safezone 1. Sandor Clegane. His face was fully visible, hair dirty and gritty and not hanging in front of the burned side of his face like usual. He no longer seemed bothered by her seeing him.

Sansa wasn't sure if she should be glad to see him. He didn't say anything, just stared, so Sansa cleared her throat.

"Thank you," she said quietly, rubbing her wrist. "For letting me in."

He nodded once, looking over her head at the door.

"You looked a bit panicked, through the peep hole."

It wasn't a question, but she could see he wanted an explanation.

"You know Ramsay Bolton?" she asked, knocking back her hood.

He snorted. Sansa took that as a 'yes'.

"He almost saw me," she said, only just containing the tremor in her voice. "He was saying he wants to find me because--" she stopped, nearly mentioning Jon. She didn't want Sandor to know about Jon. "Because he wants to rape me," she finished instead.

Sandor gave no response.

Sansa swallowed. "I'll go as soon as he's gone."

"And where will you go?" he asked gruffly. "Gates are locked. Ramsay the Cunt is out looking for you."

Sansa didn't answer. She didn't know what to say.

"It's a trap," Sandor muttered, turning and walking toward a rickety table with mismatched chairs. "They let us all in because they want us here."

"So you're just going to stay?" she asked.

It was a stupid question. As though he could just get out whenever he wanted to.

"Fuck no," he said sharply, sitting heavily back in his chair.

She shuffled her weight on her feet, looking around the small, rundown house.

"Do you think you know a way out of here?"

"I can make a way."

Sansa closed her eyes, dropping her head back against the wall. It was useless talking to him about this.

"Your family?" he asked lowly after a moment.

Sansa blinked her eyes open, meeting his, and then clenched her jaw a moment before looking down.

"We got separated," she said. "I couldn't get back to them."

"Did they get out?"

She shrugged a shoulder.

"I don't know. I saw them going after a brother of the Night's Watch, but then I saw that same brother speaking to ... an Armageddon Commander."

"So you believe me now?" he asked roughly. "The Night's Watch won't save you. Or your family."

Sansa already knew he wasn't the type to offer a comforting word, so she tried not to dwell on what he was saying. What she'd seen didn't mean the whole Night's Watch was corrupt. They couldn't be, not when they'd been fighting the Armageddon right outside Safezone 1. For all she knew, that one Night's Watch member was the only one in the entire organization who was conspiring. Unfortunately, he was also the one to whom her family had sought help.

_Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it._

"Do you think they'll be made into fighters?" she asked anyway, feeling the beginnings of a rising panic in the pattering of her heart, her hands growing cold.

"Might be," Sandor said after a moment, watching her carefully.

Sansa nodded, looking down at her bony fingers, trying to focus on deep breaths in and deep breaths out.

"I'll take you to White Harbor," he said gently, or what she assumed was an attempt at gentleness. He still sounded harsher than the average person.

Sansa met his eyes again. It was the second time he'd offered.

"What, and leave my family behind?" she asked, a bit too loudly.

Sandor's face was tense. He had mean eyes, even when he wasn't glaring.

"You've already done that."

Sansa stared, her lips parting, eyelids fluttering when her eyes burned with tears she held at bay.

Sandor's face softened as he rose, gaze unwavering on hers.

"It's up to you, girl," he said, voice still like a growl even when it was quiet. "Your family's either safe or they're not. Getting yourself captured while trying to find them won't do them any good."

They just looked at each other for a long moment, Sansa's whole body tight from fighting back a breakdown, and then Sandor grabbed a ratty jacket from the back of a chair and yanked it on as he came toward her. He stopped in front of her, looking down at her, but she couldn't seem to lift her eyes from his chest. He seemed a lot taller up close.

"What'll it be?" he asked.

Sansa glanced up at his menacing face, permanently disfigured from something she was afraid to inquire about, and then dropped her gaze again. If her current choice was being Sandor or Ramsay Bolton, she didn't have to think hard.

"I'll come with you," she muttered, falling gently back against the door.

But Sandor grasped her shoulders and moved her out of the way.

"I'll go have a look at what's going on," he said, looking through the peep hole before pulling back and unlocking the door, meeting her eyes. "You stay here. And keep the door locked."

He pulled open the door and left, shutting it harder than necessary. She pulled her bag from her shoulders and let it _thud_ to the floor before quietly sliding the door's lock into place. Pressing her hands to the wood, she squeezed one eye shut as she leaned forward to peer through the peep hole. Sandor was already gone.

She dropped her forehead to the door, sighing deeply, and furrowed her brow when it felt like she was about to cry. She hoped to God her family avoided Jon, even if it didn't seem likely. Her own escape from him probably would have seemed unlikely, too, but she'd done it. Maybe they had, too. It gave her some comfort knowing they were all at least together. They would look after each other. But they would be worried about her. She knew they would be.

 _I'm sorry I ran_ , she thought helplessly, fingers curling against the door.  _I'm sorry I was such a coward._

The house's answer was silence, and Sansa gently tapped one finger against the door before pulling back. With her foot, she nudged her bag to the side and crossed the small space to the heavily damaged brown couch in the center of the room, collapsing onto it with a harsh sniffle. Springs were prodding her bottom, but she didn't readjust, pulling the hood back onto her head and down over her face. She held it there, falling onto her side, and cried quietly beneath the material of Jon's hoodie, grateful to Sandor for leaving her alone to do this.

She thought of her mother sick with worry, of little Rickon being confused as to why she wasn't there, and she pressed her face harder into the couch, body heaving with muffled sobs. She was on her own now. They were all together, and she was on her own.

**Author's Note:**

> So there we have it! I hope you guys liked it :) I'd love to hear what you think of it so far, positive or negative. Con crit is also very welcome! But of course, don't feel obligated to comment; only if you want to :))) xx


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